I Dreamed A Dream
by DragonFyre400
Summary: They had no voice, no one to represent them. They were despised and reviled. She became that which the free peoples hated most, and with her transformation a great reckoning began. It will change the face of Middle Earth as ancient secrets are brought to light. A story of the dark before the dawn, where dreams and nightmares are their most real. OC, Eventually 10th walker. AU
1. A Dream is A Wish Your Heart Makes

Hi. Dragonfyre here. For those familiar with me, I have been writing the story 'A Dragon's Destiny' since April. I became interested deeply in many parts of the Lore of Arda during that story. This is a 'Girl falls into ME' story. It is NOT, however, anything like I've seen before. Call me biased…but give me the chance to get to chapter two before you cast judgment. :) I do my best not to make anyone a Mary Sue. I try not to make people super heroes, or give them exorbitant amounts of talent. Everybody is good and bad at something. Some people have multiple talents. I will endeavor to draw a balance.

I am excited to start this new story, and am a little nervous to be working on this one and still working on A Dragon's Destiny at the same time. I will probably alternate updating when I catch up to where I have written with this story.

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Chapter 1 – A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Cerena Michaels had never been one of those people that stood out in a crowd. She was quiet in public, a productive member of society with no penchant for secret troubles. She had been a decent student, a reliable co-worker, and an all-around good person. She disliked hubbub and hustle, which was why she lived in a small house in the country she had inherited from her grandmother upon her passing. She had her books and her music, and that was quite enough for her.

She rather liked to compare herself to Bilbo Baggins in a way. Well, before that whole fiasco with the dragon, anyway. She couldn't say that she would have followed after Gandalf and the Dwarf Company. Or perhaps she was more like Harry Potter; meek and subservient to a fault, allowing people to walk all over her and use her for their own gain. Hmm...no...she wasn't a wizard, nor did she have a Dark Lord after her blood, thank you very much. Well, whoever she most resembled was no matter.

What did matter was the storm that had just started blowing in outside, making her drive back into the country seem unbearable. She did not like storms. They were noisy, and messy, and they made her yard unkempt and sometimes kept her up at night.

"See you tomorrow, Tom!" she called to the back of the store. She worked in a mom and pop general store in their small town. She did not like the hustle of city life, having lived in a medium-sized city growing up. She preferred the quiet boisterousness of this town, and then the solitude of her cottage house.

"Drive careful, Cerena!" Came the muffled reply. Tom was probably going through inventory again.

Cerena didn't consider herself a great beauty, but she was no beast, either. She was of mixed ethnicity, dark-skinned with more curves than a country road. She blamed her mother for her coke-bottle curves. And for her thick, kinky hair. Her mother had been a wild-spirited, proud black woman. Her father was a mild-mannered accountant, white as a driven snow. She was never quite sure how they had fallen in love, but fallen they had. She was the result of their union, their only child. She felt like she got her mother's assets and her father's attitude. It was a strange, discomfiting mix for her.

She usually wore her cloud of curly hair braided back to the base of her skull and then pulled into a fluffy ponytail. It was easy to maintain and simple to do. Her eyes were plain and brown, her eyebrows thick and arched like her mother's. Her one secret pride was her lips. She had gotten her father's arched upper lip, and her mother's full bottom lip, creating a permanently sensual smile that was definitely her best feature.

The moisture in the air didn't help her hair sit flat as she walked briskly to her sensible sedan, hoping not to encounter the rain. Her relief was palpable when she shut the door with a thud, pushing the key into the ignition and firing up the car.

"_Little town, such a quiet village. Every day like the one before..._" she sang quietly to herself as she backed out of her parking spot. The rain started as she pulled out of the town limits, starting her twenty minute drive home.

She didn't normally listen to the radio on her drive home, preferring the silence, but the sound of the rain was distracting, so she decided to turn on some kind of music. She pressed the button on her radio, waiting for the sound of the static. Nothing. Making a soft noise of annoyance, she glanced down, pushing the button harder. She was disappointed again.

It happened so quickly. She glanced back up to the road, abandoning her radio. One moment the road was clear, and the next he appeared as if from nowhere. She screamed, turned the wheel and slammed on the brakes, but she still managed to clip him with her left headlight. Her car swerved and came to a stop, and for a long moment she could not breathe, holding onto the wheel so tightly her knuckles were pale.

She turned off the car, threw open her door and scrambled out. He was lying on his back on the grass, having been knocked down by the force of her car. With a cry she fell to her knees next to him, tears mixing with the rain. He was breathing, but he was clutching his side. He was an older man, dressed in dark grey robes. Christ, had she hit a priest or monk? He had a long white beard, bound in the middle with a piece of beaded twine. His hair was long, iron grey and thick. His grey eyebrows were bushy and drawn into a grimace.

"Can you hear me, sir?" she asked. He opened his eyes, and she was struck with how beautifully blue they were. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. Do you need me to drive you to a hospital?" she asked. He grimaced.

"Nay, nay, child. I have certainly been hurt worse, though I don't seem to be able to recall any of the situations right now," he said, giving her a small smile. She sighed in relief that he seemed okay. Perhaps since she had just clipped him he was not seriously hurt.

"Is there someone I can call for you? Are you sure you don't need a hospital?" she asked.

"I am but a wanderer, my dear. No anchor anywhere. I need no healer," he said, sitting up slowly. He was holding his chest still, his face twisted again into a frown.

A wanderer? A hippie, maybe? He appeared to only have a worn leather pack with him, so perhaps she was correct.

"Then at least let me tend to you for the night," she blurted. She would never understand where that had come from, or what possessed her to say it, but she would admit it was comforting to see the relief in the blue eyes of the old man.

"Now that I will not turn down," he murmured. She helped him to his feet, holding his arm as she led him to her car.

"Where is the horse for your carriage?" he asked. She paused, looking at him in concern.

"A...are you okay?" she asked. He looked at her with those unnerving blue eyes, and then laughed aloud.

"Forgive me. I am only feeling a bit groggy. I was tired, you see. It was why I didn't see you coming," he demurred. She looked at him with a concerned gaze for a few more moments before accepting his excuse. She opened the door of the car for him, helping him sit down. She didn't bother with the seat belt, because there were no cops out here. They stayed close to the town, anyway. "Oh, my dear, my staff has fallen by the road. Could you retrieve it for me?" he asked.

She nodded, walking quickly to where he had fallen. The staff was lying in the grass, abandoned when he fell. She picked it up, noting how warm it felt in her hands. Then she noticed a lump of wet grey cloth. She picked it up, noticing it was a hat. A pointy hat. She was suddenly feeling much less okay with driving a stranger to her house in the middle of nowhere. Apparently she'd picked up a guy dressed as a wizard. Great.

The rest of the drive was quiet. He seemed tense for some reason. Perhaps the pain was greater than she thought? She pulled up into the driveway of her little house and saw him admire the little gingerbread cottage. She parked the car, rushing to the passenger's side and opening the door for him. He eased the long staff out of the car, using it instead of her to help him to his feet. He clutched the wet hat in his hand, the staff thumping against her walkway.

She opened the door and let him in, shaking raindrops out of her ponytail when she walked into the house.

"Do you want a shower, sir?" she asked. "I might have some clean clothes that belonged to my grandfather sitting around somewhere," she added.

"I would not turn down a hot bath or a bit of food if the kind lady were amenable," he said, his blue eyes twinkling merrily.

"Cerena," she said suddenly. His bushy eyebrows twitched upwards. "My name is Cerena," she added.

"A lovely name," he said in his deep, gravelly voice. He seemed to be debating something. "You may call me Olórin," he said. She smiled nervously.

"Your parents must have been Tolkien fans," she said weakly.

"How so?" he asked.

"Well, that was Gandalf's name. His...original name," she said. He stared at her for several moments.

"I can't say that I know Tolkien," he said.

"I'll just...go find those clothes," she said, backing away and nearly scampering from the room. The blue eyes of the stranger shot about, taking in the strange but cozy sitting room. Books were neatly lined up in several large bookcases, and a piano that had a well-worn bench sitting in front of it. He could hear the girl puttering around in the other room, and the sound of running water.

She knew his name, that much was true, but there was something about the way she reacted to it that made him suspicious. Was she a servant of the enemy? The strange, horseless metal carriage she had taken smacked of dark magic, but she did not reek of ill intent. In fact, she seemed very innocent.

She returned after several minutes, holding a bundle of clothes.

"I found some things that should fit. They're clean, but haven't been worn in a while," she said. He set the staff against the wall, walking stiffly towards her and receiving the bundle.

"My heart rejoices in its thanks for you," he said gratefully. She smiled shyly.

"The tub is full of hot water, and you're welcome to any of the products there, though I doubt you'll want to smell like peaches," she returned. "Second door on the right is the bathroom."

He bowed to her and left the room. She watched as he entered the bathroom, and heard the shuffling of someone fiddling around in the room. She was nervous, this much was true, but she didn't get a bad feeling from this man. He seemed like a harmless old traveler with a penchant for strange clothes and a strange name. Perhaps he enjoyed dressing that way because of his name? Some people just had quirks...

She fiddled around in the kitchen as he bathed, making a few hot sandwiches and preparing a bit of lemonade. She didn't much like sodas, and didn't keep them on hand, but she was usually prepared to spoil herself with a little lemonade. After a time he emerged from the bathroom, and she almost laughed aloud. The robes had looked much more at home on him. He looked out of place in a pair of corduroy pants and a button-up shirt. His hair and beard were damp but neatly combed.

"I made sandwiches, but they're hot," she said. He nodded amicably and sat down at her table. They ate in silence, and she was aware that he was studying her.

"Tell me more about Tolkien," Olórin said gingerly, sipping his lemonade. She swallowed a bit of ham and cheese.

"Well, he is widely regarded as one of the best fiction writers of all time. He is most famous for his series called 'Lord of the Rings,' and to a lesser extent the companion piece, 'The Hobbit,'" she said, setting her sandwich down. "He created the land of Middle Earth in his writings."

"And how does it relate to...to here and now?" he asked, stuttering only slightly over the question.

"Well, Tolkien said he fancied that Middle Earth was just Earth a long time ago. The series ended right as the Fourth Age began, and he said that modern times were in the sixth or seventh age," she commented. He stopped chewing, his face a bit surprised, before nodding gently. "I know a lot of the history of Middle Earth. I've read the books many times. I've seen the movies. You could be a relation to Ian McKellen," she commented. "He's the actor that portrays Gandalf, the wizard."

"Wizards? Sounds a bit far-fetched," he ventured. She smiled.

"Well, the wizards were very kind and helpful to the people of Middle Earth. They were sent by the Valar to help them combat Sauron."

"And did they?" Olórin asked casually. Cerena smiled wider.

"Well they would have had to for it to be the Sixth Age. If Sauron had conquered Middle Earth then he would have destroyed it," she said. He nodded, seeming both comforted and troubled.

"And what of the wizards?" he asked.

"Gandalf sailed with the elves into the west. Saruman was killed, and Radagast's fate was unknown. Alatar and Pollando were also never mentioned," she said, before standing and taking her plate to the sink.

"There were elves?" He asked.

"Oh yes. They were created first in Middle Earth by the God, Eru. They sailed to their own paradise after Sauron was defeated, and the world became darker without their light," she said as she retrieved his plate and glass.

"You sound as though you know a bit about the Elves," he commented lightly. She grinned.

"Every Tolkien fan enjoys the elves to some extent. But I have a secret soft spot," she said with a secret smile. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a pack of cookies. She placed it down on the table between them. "I have a sort of obsession with the orcs."

He spluttered. "Why ever for?" He asked. Then he noticed the strange look on her face and caught his mistake. "It sounds like a dreadful word...orc..." he trailed off lamely. She blinked, but continued.

"Oh they were dangerous, and I make no assumptions that they were anything other than miserable creatures. But why would they not be? They were corrupted elves, their bodies twisted and tortured with dark magic beyond the understanding of Men. They hated their own existence and despised the ones they were made from. They could only create war, and hated the masters that kept forcing them into fighting. They had no voice in Middle Earth. They couldn't be reasoned with and no one tried. It's just sad," she said softly. Olórin took a shivering breath.

"You are a compassionate soul," he murmured. She distracted herself by eating a cookie, and they were both silent for a few minutes.

"Well, I have enjoyed our story time," she said shyly. He looked at her intensely for several moments before a smile graced his face.

"Aye. It has been very enlightening."

* * *

She ensconced him in what she called a 'guest bedroom.' The bed was a little small but the hand sewn quilt on top of it was comfortable and had the scent of welcome and love about it. He might have even slept well had it not been for the most interesting dream.

_He was in Irmo's garden, sitting at the feet of the Lord himself as the Vala spoke with him._

_"Now when she gets here, it will be paramount for you to stay with her," Irmo said, twisting a handful of flowers in his hands._

_"When who gets here, my Lord?" he asked. Irmo stopped fiddling with the flowers and looked down at him, seeming surprised at the question._

_"Why, the Dreamer, of course," he said._

_"Who is the Dreamer?" he couldn't help but ask._

_"Olórin, we do not have time for this. You must make sure she is ready by the time she faces the Council. They will resist her, for many reasons, but you need to stand by her no matter what. It's important," Irmo declared. He finished the twisting for the flowers in his hand, and with a flourish he held out a circlet of flowers. "Give her this, and tell her that it is perfectly normal to experience a bit of nausea at first."_

_Olórin reached out and took the garland of flowers_, only to sit up on the narrow bed with a gasp. He reached up with one hand and wiped sweat from his brow, before swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. Morning light streamed into the room through the flower-printed curtains, and he could smell the scent of breakfast.

His ribs still ached from the accident, but he placed his other hand on his stomach to ease the growling. That was when he saw it. The garland from his dream- vision, most likely,- was still in his grasp. The flowers were hardy little things, buttery yellow in the center and blue on the tips of their petals. The braided stems were bright with life, and the leaves seemed to hum with magical energy. He huffed.

* * *

She hummed to herself as she put some bacon on the plate. She had slept well last night, having a pleasant dream about a picnic with Lord Elrond of Rivendell. She was not surprised with it, having talked a lot about Lord of the Rings to Olórin last night.

He shuffled into the room, rubbing his side as she was pulling bread from the oven. He had changed back into his robes, and the heavy grey material swished as he walked, his worn boots thudding lightly against the linoleum floor.

"I got fancy and made buttermilk biscuits to go with the eggs and bacon," she said cheerfully. His stomach made its pleasure known. She saw a flush in his cheeks, and laughed as she put generous helpings on his plate and then poured him a large glass of milk.

She was a lovely young woman with her exotically dark skin and curly hair. Her baggy pants and shirt hid the curves that had been revealed in her simple outfit from last night and the pink, canvass shoes on her feet were disarming.

"I would like to thank you for your assistance and kindness last night," he said softly. She pulled out a chair for him and made sure he was comfortably seated before she took her own place.

"It was the least I could do after almost running you over with my car," she said softly. They ate in silence then, and Olórin enjoyed the rich and filling breakfast. The biscuits were fluffy and very good with the butter and jam that she had put out.

"Did you have pleasant dreams last night?" he asked conversationally. Her nose wrinkled as she grinned, revealing white teeth. Her brown cheeks flushed and she put her hand to her chest.

"Oh, it was so strange! With all of our talk about Lord of the Rings, I had a dream I was having a picnic with one of the elves!" she laughed. He took a sip of the milk, using the paper napkin she had given him to blot the white beverage from his fluffy mustache.

"And which elf was it?" he asked.

"Oh, while everyone loves to dream and drool over Legolas, I like the dark-haired ones best. And Lord Elrond is very handsome in that serious, darker way," she said with a grin. His eyebrows twitched upwards.

"Lord, eh? Is he important?" he asked.

"He's the Lord of one of the elven realms, called Rivendell in the Common Tongue, or Imladris to the elves," she replied. "You know? I've got a poster of him in my nerd room! I'll show you!" she said.

"Nerd room?" he asked. She flushed again.

"Let me show you," she said, standing from the table and grasping his hand. He laughed at her exuberance. He grasped his staff from where it had been set against the wall as they passed it, allowing her to pull him to the first room in the narrow hallway. She pushed open the door and led him inside.

His eyebrows nearly came off of his face. Against one wall was a massive map of Arda, framed in a rich black frame and behind glass. On each side, there was a replica of a wizard's staff. If he were correct, it was a rough replica of his own staff, and that of Saruman's. There were Tengwar letters below the frame, painted onto the wall.

_Savo 'lass a lalaith. Have joy and laughter._ She knew bits of Elvish, then? Interesting. There were many colored pictures on that wall, and she walked over to the wall, pointing to faces that he had known for a long time.

"This is Legolas. He's played by Orlando Bloom. He's the Prince of Mirkwood, which is right here on the map," she was speaking exuberantly. "And this is Elijah Wood. He plays Frodo Baggins." His eyes snapped up at the picture, widening as the narrow, haunted face stared back at him. The lad's hand was extended, and a simple gold ring rested on his palm. "Oh! Here's Elrond. Hugo Weaving is his actor," she said, pointing to the picture. The likeness was striking. The deep eyes that stared out from the glossy paper, the simple circlet on his brow, and the austere robes were so very…Elrond. She pointed to a shiny, blunt sword. "I like this one. This is a replica of Andúril. It's Aragorn's sword, re-forged from the shards of a sword called Narsil," she said.

He realized he was still holding the garland of flowers in his hand, and his fingers tightened about it. She knew quite a bit about what was, is, and was to come…

"This is my favorite wall. On this side I have some Harry Potter stuff, mostly wands from different wizards and a replica of Hermione's Time Turner," she said, pointing to a display case. "Some people go out and party, drink…I like to collect book and movie props."

"Oh! I forgot I had him!" she said, reaching under a squishy sofa. She pulled out a large stuffed animal, and when she turned it to him, he realized it was a large stuffed dragon. Its cartoonish mouth was open, revealing felt teeth and a felt forked tongue. It was red with shimmering golden wings, and with a start he looked into the gold button eyes and realized it was a replica of Smaug. "I made him myself! Isn't he so squishy looking?" she said, tucking the animal into a cushion of the sofa.

"I'm impressed," he croaked out. She looked at him, a proud look on her face. "And I…I have something for you," he added. This almost felt like a betrayal. She smiled in that guileless way and he held out the circlet with a flourish.

"Oh! It's pretty. For me?" she asked. He stepped towards her, holding his staff in the crook of his arm as he placed the garland of flowers on her head. She blushed prettily, reaching up and cocking the flowers against her braided hair. "Thank you!" she said. He kept staring at her, noticing as her smile slowly faded from her face. She blinked several times, reached up to rub her eyes, and then promptly keeled over. His staff lit up with blinding blue light, and he sighed softly.

"Sometimes, my dear child, our dreams become more real than we could possibly imagine. And when that time comes, we must ask ourselves what to do about it. Do we put our feet on the ground and meet it head on, or do we run and hide ourselves away? You are about to find out more about fair Arda than you ever thought you'd know," he said and knelt down next to her.

There was a flash of light and the smell of ozone in the air as magic crashed around them, and when the light faded, there was nothing to indicate either had ever been there except the remnants of breakfast dishes in the kitchen and a broken garland of flowers on the floor.

* * *

I hope that was original and not confusing. This story will have some heavy influences by the Valar, Lord Irmo in particular. For those unfamiliar with the lore of the Valar, Irmo is the Lord and Master of Dreams, Visions, and Desires. He is the husband to Estë the Gentle, Lady of Healing and Rest. There may be some cameo appearances by the others (There are fourteen) but these two are the greatest supernatural stars. :)

Cerena's name is pronounced just like 'Serena' but is spelled with a 'c.' *Shrug* Let me know what you think. Favorite, Follow, or if you have a bit of time, I'd love to have a review. For the sake of interest and hoping to catch more people, I will be posting Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 together. I hope to see you for the long run!


	2. In the Dark of the Night

I decided to go ahead and post chapter two in the hope of keeping a few people interested. Within this chapter is the small preview I put in my other story, A Dragon's Destiny. Feel free to check that out! I basically hit the ground running in this story. The first bit of intrigue is very early, and it becomes quite important, so… :D

I know the early chapters of stories are less likely to get reviews, but if I could take a moment to beg for a few, just to let me know if this story is interesting enough to continue…I would vastly appreciate them. I won't hold the story ransom, or deny a new chapter if I don't get them, but with such an odd story arc as this one is going to be I would like to know if I have any sort of interest.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 2 – In the Dark of the Night

Hurtling through space and time was not fun. And it was especially 'not fun' when one was holding tightly onto a passenger who was all dead weight. This particular brand of transportation felt like being bound tightly in starched robes and sent down a steep hill on a sled while lying on your back. The trip to that strange world had only taken a few moments. One moment he had been stepping into the forest of Imladris, eager to see his old elf-friend for a little while before he was off toward the Shire, and the next moment he was hurtling through a dark void before being unceremoniously dumped into the grass. He had not recognized the dark, winding road he had been traveling, and the rain had made it difficult to see. He had been nap-walking, a dangerous but prudent way of catching a bit of rest while walking, when he had stepped in front of that horseless carriage.

His meeting with Cerena had been short and sweet. She was a kind soul, and knowledgeable in much lore. What Irmo needed her for he could not guess. But did not the Valar work in mysterious ways? Perhaps she was sent to help them destroy the One Ring, if it had indeed been found. Or perhaps she was more profoundly required. It was not his place to question the will of the Valar, only to obey. Questioning was what had gotten Melkor and Sauron in trouble, the arrogant fools.

The trip, quite a bit longer than it had been before, was over with a jarring landing on a dirt road. He lost his grip on Cerena as he was prostrated quite painfully in the dust. His hat was knocked off of his head, and it took several moments for the breath to come back to him. He gasped deeply when it did, rolling to his back and reaching blindly for his staff. His hand brushed across the warm, familiar wood, and he pulled it to him. With a groan from his protesting ribs, he sat up. Something was poking him insistently in the side, and he had to move the scabbard of Glamdring so that it was no longer in his thigh. At least his blade had been returned to him. He had felt rather bereft without it when he'd landed in Cerena's strange world.

Cerena was on her side, facing away from him, still quite firmly out cold. Probably for the best if she landed as hard as he did. He finally was able to make it to his feet, huffing like a wounded troll and using his staff for more support than anything. He approached the still form of Cerena, and knelt at her side.

"Cerena?" he asked, his voice soft. She had curled in on herself, her arm up over her head as though to protect her face. He reached over and turned her over, only to fall over onto his bottom as she was revealed to him. Her hands, which had been neatly manicured and taken care of, now sported sharp, shiny black claws. Her ears, the soft rounded form of a descendant of Men, were large and pointed roughly at the tip. Her mouth opened in a soft groan, showing the tips of impressive looking fangs. "C-Cerena?" he called again, his voice unsure.

She opened her eyes.

* * *

"…_rena?"_

Someone called her name? Perhaps it was a dream. She could not remember falling asleep, though. It would be lovely to have that dream about the picnic with Lord Elrond again. He seemed so nice in her dream, so serene and polite. She likened him more to the book Elrond as opposed to the movie Elrond. He had been gracious, but with an uneven temper that was not conducive to a relaxed environment.

Hmm…everything felt hazy, somehow. And yet, she was being assaulted with sounds and smells that were far beyond anything she had ever experienced before. She opened her mouth, trying to call out, but only succeeded in letting out a soft moan.

"_Cerena?"_ She opened her eyes.

She looked over and saw Olórin leaning back on his hands, his bright blue eyes wide with what appeared to be shock. He was open mouthed as he stared at her.

"Olórin?" she asked softly. Then she paused. Everything tasted funny. She stuck out her tongue, and yelped as something pricked it. Then she carefully ran her tongue over her teeth, and yelped loudly. "I have fangs! Why do I have fangs?" She asked, flapping her hands uselessly. Then she noticed the shiny black talons on the end of her fingers. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice squeaking.

"I'm not sure…" Olórin stuttered. She looked up at him, noticing for the first time that they were no longer in her house.

"Where are we? Why did we leave the house? I can't remember…" she said.

"I brought you here, Cerena," Olórin said. Cerena looked around, noticing the dirt road that stretched on as far as the eye could see, and the high trees that lined the road.

"Did you kidnap me? There's no one to send for ransom. My parents are dead and I didn't inherit a lot," she said, drawing up her knees.

"I want no money, child," he said, still staring at her unsurely.

"Are you…going to rape me?" she asked. He spluttered indignantly, and it seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had found himself in.

"I should think not, girl! _Indeed._ Come, up on your feet. We've miles to go before we can rest, and miles yet before we reach safe haven," he said, getting to his feet.

"What do you want with me? Where are we?" Cerena asked insistently. Olórin looked at her and sighed.

"We are on our way to Imladris, called Rivendell in the common tongue," he said. Her face flushed an ugly color.

"How _dare_ you? I took you into my home…I fed you and gave you a place to sleep. I could have just called an ambulance and been done with you! And you repay me by dragging me out into woods in the middle of God-knows-where, and telling me we're going to Rivendell? Next you'll tell me that I should just call you Gandalf!" she snapped, her voice dropping in anger.

"It would be easier for you to call me that. I'm not known by Olórin on these Shores," he said, turning and beginning to walk. "You should join me. There's safety in numbers, and without me I cannot guarantee your safety."

"Rivendell wasn't known for its inhospitality," she said automatically. Then she stood to her feet, brushing the dust from her body. "Listen to me! I've been drawn into the crazy!" she snarled, surprising herself when it sounded quite animalistic in her chest.

"Normally, no. But with your…change of appearance I feel it would be safer to travel with me," Gandalf said diplomatically.

"Change of appearance?" she asked. Gandalf winced, looking into her new, slitted yellow eyes.

"Well…"

* * *

She refused to talk to him. They walked in uncomfortable, stiff silence. She was growling lowly in her chest, an interesting sound coming from a woman. His staff made soft thuds against the dirt road as they walked, and her canvass shoes left a strange print wherever they trod. They walked for hours this way.

"Are we there yet?" she asked suddenly, her voice sharp.

"No. We are not. If I am judging the point of the road correctly, it will likely take us three days to get to Rivendell," he commented. She stopped and turned to him.

"Three days?" she asked. He nodded, and continued walking. "Why does it take so long?"

"Because we have no horse. We will stop in an hour if we've made good time," he said, and she hurried to catch up with him.

"Why did you turn me into an orc?" she blurted suddenly. He stopped.

"I suppose we can stop now," he commented, walking off of the road and into the lush grass. He eased the leather pack off of his back and sat on the ground, placing his staff beside him as he withdrew a few parcels of food. She sat near him, her stomach growling. He gave her a bit of dried meat, some skind of dried fruit mixture, and a piece of hard cheese.

"Let's get one thing straight: I had no intention of changing your appearance. I was not made privy to that information. Apparently the Valar have plans for you. And barring that, then Eru himself as stepped in and placed his hand on you," Gandalf said, withdrawing a skin of water. It tasted a bit stale, but it was clean.

"But if the Valar changed me… I thought only Morgoth was evil enough to twist beings into orcs?" She asked, gnawing on her dried meat. Gandalf seemed to study her.

"This is true…mostly. Melkor took elves and tortured them, twisting their bodies and spirits into a parody of their former selves. It seems to me that while your body has been changed, your soul is left intact. I know not what purpose it will serve, but I know that it must be important for them to drag you from another world all the way here to accomplish it," Gandalf replied.

"But why an orc? Why not stay human? Or be a hobbit? Or an elf?" she asked. Gandalf shook his head.

"I know not. I will keep you as safe as I may. We need to get to the safety of Rivendell quickly," he said. She nibbled at her cheese, feeling quite odd as she ate. Her orcish stomach didn't seem to like anything other than the dried meat, though she had been fond of cheese and fruit before. It was a grumbly feeling, not painful, but her tummy was not happy with her.

They walked again until the sun started down behind the horizon, coloring the sky brilliant colors as the wavelengths of light lengthened.

"Where are we sleeping?" Cerena asked, reaching up to rub her eyes. Though it was getting darker, her eyes did not seem to be getting any worse. Weren't orcs supposed to see very well in the night-time?

"That tree looks good. We want to be off of the ground," Gandalf said, pointing to a tree whose branches looked easy to climb. Well…easy for Gandalf, who hopped and huffed neatly onto a higher branch, tying his pack on a branch above him and wrapping his cloak around him.

Cerena stood at the base of the tree, looking every bit as foolish as she felt. She hopped, trying to grasp a branch, but only managed to scrape at the wood with her sharp nails.

"Gandalf…" she whimpered.

"Jump with your knees, not your ankles," Gandalf said absent-mindedly. She hunkered down a bit, bending her knees, before jumping as high as she could. She failed spectacularly.

"Gandalf!" she exclaimed.

And so it was that Gandalf climbed down and spent the next twenty minutes trying to shove her onto a tree branch. When she fell on top of him, taking them both to the ground, he decided it might be prudent just to have an adventure on the ground. So with a twitch of his fingers, the tie in his pack came loose, dropping from the tree. He settled himself against the backside of the tree, away from the road so that anyone traveling the road at night would not be tempted with an old traveler.

Cerena stood nearby, debating on what to do. She still did not believe that she was in Middle Earth. She had vague suspicions that she had been kidnapped, possibly drugged, and now she was living out a doped up fantasy while she was probably being tortured in real life. Oló- er…Gandalf seemed so _real, _though. He spoke of Rivendell as though they were only truly a few days out. He spoke of Melkor as if he knew him.

"Well? I'm fairly certain that even orcs do not sleep standing up," Gandalf said gruffly, adjusting his cloak. She frowned, looking hurt, before she sat down beside him. He pulled out a thin blanket from his pack, and handed it to her. It was not terribly cold, but she did appreciate the gesture. She wrapped herself up in the material, which smelled vaguely of smoke and grass, before her head leaned back with a thud against the tree.

"G-Gandalf?" she stuttered nervously. His head tilted slightly.

"Hmm?" he hummed sleepily.

"Are we really in Middle Earth?" she asked bluntly.

"Yes," he replied.

"And elves are real, and orcs, and hobbits, and ring wraiths, and Dark Lords, and-,"

"Yes!" he retorted. "I am sorry that it had to be this way. I wish there could have been an introductory period, which I could have gotten to know you better….that you didn't have to change. But trust me when I say that we are in Arda, on our way to Imladris to ask the opinion of the Lord Elrond," he said bluntly. He heard a small sniffle, but then she fell silent. With a huff of his own, he drew his cloak around him, evening out his breathing and falling asleep.

She could not get comfortable against the stiff trunk of the tree. The bark ground into her skin and the ground was cold. She trembled in the night air, despite the thin blanket Gandalf had given her. She was not necessarily very cold, but she was frightened. Not only that, but she did not feel tired. She felt oddly giddy in the faded moonlight that filtered through the trees. Her eyes could see into the dark forest, and she watched the night fauna of the woods come to life, skittering, scuttling, and scampering around in the leaves.

Gandalf was snoring softly beside her, and she tried once more to get into a comfortable position in which to sleep. The wizard next to her snuffled in sleep and turned his head away from her, before resuming the soft sound of nighttime breathing. She sighed.

A cry sounded deep in the woods, making Cerena's new, pointed ears twitch. She inhaled sharply, her entire body stiffening in surprise and fear. She looked over to see if Gandalf had heard anything, but he was still out cold. She whimpered slightly, before pulling her blanket over her head like a hood, trying to burrow as deeply as she could while still watching the dark forest. The cry sounded again, much closer this time, and she felt Gandalf jerk to wakefulness beside her.

"What was that?" he asked groggily. Cerena was trembling.

"I don't know..." she said. Gandalf was on his feet with shocking spryness, holding his staff tightly and reaching for the handle of Glamdring. He had not checked to see if it would glow in the presence of Cerena, and he did not want to give his position away just yet with a glowing sword.

"Stay here," Gandalf said gruffly, before stepping deeper into the woods. Cerena was on her feet, holding the blanket around herself.

"Gandalf!" she whispered. He held his hand out to silence her, and walked deeper still. She could only barely see the deep grey robes shifting in the shadow the woods. She glanced around in the quiet, whimpering as the branches seemed to close in on her. Several minutes went by, and she made a quick decision. With a stifled whimper, she took off through the woods in the direction Gandalf had gone.

She ran, ducking branches and wincing as others struck at her face and legs, catching in her hair and whipping at her ears. She had only been running a few moments when a body emerged from behind a tree at full run, slamming into her quite solidly and knocking them both to the ground, dazed.

She heard the frightened, pained wailing of a child, and managed to sit up. The other figure was trying to gain its feet, bending forward to pick up a large bundle. Cerena gasped when she saw several arrows stuck in the figure's back. The figure could not lift its burden, and fell to its knees.

"Are you okay?" Cerena asked. The hooded head came up, and through the moonlight in the trees Cerena could see a twisted face, more animal than human. The green-grey skin of a vaguely feline face was criss-crossed with fine silver scars, and there were several metal rings piercing the thick, arched eyebrows. A flat, broad nose flared as it inhaled a few shuddering breaths, and the thin-lipped mouth was open, revealing sharp teeth stained with black blood. Ruby red eyes glittered in the moonlight.

"Thrugrim! Marr ta!" the growling voice came, pointing to the wailing bundle.

"I don't...I don't understand!" Cerena said fearfully. She had little doubt that this was an orc. The voice was strangely high. Was it a female orc? She had never read about them, nor seen them in the movies. She supposed they had to exist, though, or there wouldn't be any little orclings.

"Murderers! They come! Take him!" the voice growled, much more feminine when speaking the common tongue.

"Who? What's wrong?" she asked. The female orc's eyes fluttered slightly.

"Save...baur...son..." she choked, thick blood started to seep between her lips. Cerena noticed the squirming, wailing bundle had grown still at the sound of his mother's voice. There was a whistle through the air and the orc woman jerked as another arrow thudded into her back. The sharply clawed hand rested on the bundle. "Visht..." she choked, and fell forward. She did not rise again.

Cerena was in shock until a fresh cry caught her attention. She leaned forward and pushed aside the cloth of the bundle, revealing the thin face of a young orc-child. His black hair was braided back in tiny braids, and his large, pointed, almost floppy ears were pierced several times near the tip. He looked up at her with jewel-like orange eyes, murky tears cutting trails on his face.

He appeared to be five years old, but his face was very thin so she couldn't be sure. Gangly arms emerged from the bundle, and he patted the dead woman's shoulder.

"Amzi?" he asked. "Amzi..." and he began to cry.

Cerena's eyes were wet with tears as she reached forward, drawing the boy into her arms. He struggled a bit, trying to reach for the body of his mother. "Amzi!" he wailed.

"Come on, kiddo. We gotta get out of here. They might come back-," there was a whistle and thud, and she looked up to see an arrow embedded in the tree right next to her head. "Gotta run!" she quickly picked up the orc-boy in his cloth wrappings, running back the way she had come. He wrapped his thin arms around her neck, gibbering strange words in her ear as he was jostled again. She was clinging to him and running, unsure of a destination but desperate to get there.

As she emerged from the tree-line, she came up short when two figures were waiting on the dusty road. One was aiming at her with a rough-looking bow. The other had a wicked looking black blade. They were short, squat things, their faces looking strangely ape-like. Malicious yellow eyes glared at her.

"Give us tha boy!" the archer growled, showing rotted, yellow fangs.

"You can go straight to hell!" Cerena snarled, surprising herself with the intensity in her voice. The orc with the sword took a step forward.

"I will fuck the ever-loving _shit_ out of you, you cock-gobbling slut! Give us tha boy!" he said. Cerena wrapped her arms around the boy in her arms tightly.

"Go jump off of a cliff!" she said. The archer drew back his bow tightly. Cerena turned away from them, holding the boy tightly.

She heard a whistle- two?- and then felt pain. A burning pain in her shoulder that made her cry out. She went to her knees, curling her body over the boy in an effort to protect him. He was crying again, blubbering in that strange, harsh language.

"Foolish girl!"

She looked up to see Gandalf standing in front of her, and two more figures flanking each side of him. The two figures lay dead in the road, one pierced with an arrow and the other with his throat cut.

"Mithrandir! She's-,"

"I know what she looks like! But it's not what it seems. Get her on a horse; I have little doubt that those arrows are poisoned!" Gandalf said with authority.

"What's she holding?" one of the figures asked. "Fair Elbereth! 'Tis an orc-pup!"

"Please…his mother…dead in the woods….I saved him…she begged me….please…" Cerena could already feel a cloudy feeling in her mind. The pain was beyond anything she'd ever felt. She could barely make out consecutive words. Gandalf knelt next to her, leaning over the crying orc boy in her arms. His orange eyes were wide with fright, steadily leaking the strange, cloudy tears.

"Vras? Vras Visht?" the boy asked haltingly. Gandalf regarded the trembling child curiously, before standing again.

"Nar, Visht. Nar vras," he stated firmly. The boy, Visht, gave him a wide-eyed stare.

"Take them both," Gandalf said to his companion.

"But Mithrandir!" One exclaimed in disgust. Gandalf turned to him.

"It is by my order and responsibility. Take them _both,_ and harm neither. We shall see what her compassion as wrought," Gandalf said stiffly. Cerena felt herself be lifted, and then felt the sinewy muscle of a horse beneath her. The creature whinnied and bucked, and the other elf had to calm it with soothing words in Elvish as its rider mounted behind her. She felt a light touch on her hip, holding her on. Her arms tightened around the boy, and he in turn twisted in his coverings, burying himself into her embrace.

"S'okay, little one. Gonna be fine…" she murmured, feeling nauseous and dizzy.

She looked down as Gandalf put a hand on her knee.

"Not even a day into this world and you're already changing things. Even the smallest pebble can cast the furthest ripples," he said gently. She saw two of him for a moment, and was beginning to lose her battle with consciousness. "Be safe." She blinked owlishly, and then her eyes slid shut, her head flopping forward limply. As the horse began to move forward, Gandalf's last sight was of the brilliant orange eyes of the orcling as he regarded the wizard inside his cloth cocoon.

Pale green eyes watched from the trees until they were all well out of sight, before a figure leapt gracefully from the branch and disappeared into the woods like a shadow.

* * *

Well, It's a start. I have chapter 3 written, but I will not post it yet. There's more of a description of Cerena's appearance in chapter 3, but since she did not have a chance to see a reflection, I thought it fine to leave it where it was.

Translations:

Thrugrim! Marr Ta - Murderers! Take him!

Baur - son

Amzi - Mama

Vras? Vras Visht? - Kill? Kill Visht?

Nar, Visht. Nar vras - No, Visht. No kill.

Well, what do you think? For all the while I've been writing fanfiction, I'm extremely self-conscious about it. I'm really excited about this story, and still super stoked about my other one, so I'm always biased when it comes to these stories. What I read as intelligible may be complete poo to someone else.

I know the early chapters of stories are less likely to get reviews, but if I could take a moment to beg for a few, just to let me know if this story is interesting enough to continue…I would vastly appreciate them. I won't hold the story ransom, or deny a new chapter if I don't get them, but with such an odd story arc as this one is going to be I would like to know if I have any sort of interest.

So as always, if you haven't then favorite or follow, and if you haven't left a review, I would absolutely _love_ one!


	3. Reflection

Ooh la la! Such a grand response to a new story. I am honored and excited, all wrapped up into one little chapter. As a reward for your loyalty, I made this chapter a good quarter longer than I normally do. And such esteemed company for this story, as well! *Blush*

I will endeavor to make this story as believable as possible. I truly want to do justice to this. I know there will be a certain amount of author's prerogative going on, especially when you use the term '10th walker' and take into consideration what I'm going to be doing to some people. }:] That is my evil face. It is a harbinger of doom. Lol jk, it just means that I have plans upon which the very foundation of Arda will be shaken. Viva la revolution!

* * *

Chapter 3 - Reflection

It was like fighting through a thick layer of molasses to get back to consciousness. She was almost aware that she was not awake, which was a disconcerting and altogether foreign feeling. As awareness came, she was able to hear raised voices.

"-must have been addled by pipe-smoke! Two orcs!"

"As despicable as it is, they are here under Mithrandir's protection, and Lord Elrond has agreed to their sanctuary until the she-orc can be questioned. I hope they destroy her!"

The voices sounded so vehement and full of a deep-seated hatred that it surprised Cerena. She was suddenly aware of a presence at her side, and looked down to see the bright, citrine eyes of the little orc boy she had saved. He was on the bed with her, clearly having refused to be separated from the one creature that seemed familiar to him.

She was not sure if he had been taught the customary hatred of Elves, yet. It seemed that he was unaware of his surroundings in a way. Could he even speak Common? As a matter of fact, why were the elves outside her door speaking Common? Did they hope she heard? She found the thought disturbing.

"Hello there," she said softly, her voice a bit hoarse with dryness. The boy just stared at her. "What's your name?" she asked him. "I'm Cerena."

"Cer-reena?" he asked, his voice lisping a bit. "Me Visht."

"Hullo, Visht," she said gently, reaching up a leaden hand and resting it on his braided head.

"Amzi dead," he whimpered. She winced as a pain shot through her shoulder, and had to lower her hand.

"Was Amzi your mother?" she asked. He didn't seem to understand.

"Visht nalt. All vadokan," he whispered in a broken mix of Black Speech and Common. He laid himself deeper into her side, putting his head against her chest so that his large ear could rest close to her beating heart. His hair had a dusty scent to it, but it was not as unpleasant as she had expected an orc to smell. Perhaps it was because he was young? Perhaps her own nose was not biased?

The door opened suddenly, and she felt Visht stiffen at her side, clutching his sharp-nailed hands convulsively into the material of the robe she had been wrapped in. She looked over at the door, relieved to see Gandalf enter, his staff tapping a familiar beat against the floor. A tall, stately elf entered behind him, dressed in heavy brocade robes and adorned with a finely wrought circlet on his brow. His face was smooth and ageless, but his dark grey eyes were deep and weary. This must be Elrond. It _had_ to be Elrond.

"I would bow, Lord Elrond, but I fear I am not able to rise," she said, unconsciously moving her arm up to drape across Visht's shoulder. Elrond seemed only mildly surprised, showing only in the slight upward twitch of his eyebrow.

"I suppose I should not be surprised that you know me. Mithrandir mentioned you were a Seer," Elrond said. Cerena looked to where Gandalf was standing, and noticed his eyes were twinkling slightly.

"Well, I have certainly seen much," she said. And it was not a lie.

"I wasn't aware that Orcs could possess the gift of foresight," Elrond said lightly. Cerena raised a thick, dark brow.

"I'm not exactly your everyday kind of orc," she said dryly. He seemed to acquiesce with a tilt of his head. Visht's head tilted upwards.

"Golug nûl Visht?" he inquired. She saw Elrond literally shudder in revulsion at the sound of the words. She knew from reading that 'golug' meant 'elf.' She didn't know what 'nûl' meant.

"Nar, Visht. Elrond nar nûl," Gandalf provided. The boy looked at Gandalf.

"Lat flas?" he asked, his ears twitching curiously. He seemed strangely well formed for an Orc. He was long and lean almost like a human child, his fingers long and spindly at the end of gangly arms.

"Flas nardur," Gandalf replied. "Flas pa-shi?" Gandalf asked. Visht seemed to smile shyly.

"Speak little," he stuttered. His lips were dark against the off-green of his skin, and the delicate skin of his eyelids was also darker underneath his thick brows. "Never meet eff a'fore," he said brokenly, staring curiously at Elrond. The elf-lord seemed equal parts horrified and curious at the orc-pup. Then his attention turned back to Cerena.

"Gandalf has mentioned that you have Seen the fate of Arda. What can you tell us of it?" he asked. His voice was deep and soothing, lilting with the cool assurance of elves. But Cerena knew that she could not tell them much.

"There is much in the future that exists as a delicate balance. A single breath could blow the whole thing apart and cover the land in a darkness that has not yet been seen. The Men and Dwarves have no Valinor to retreat to, my Lord, so forgive me my reluctance," she said softly. Elrond was regarding her coolly with those deep grey eyes.

"I will not force you to tell me anything. Not now, at least. You are a guest in Rivendell under the protection of Gandalf, who is a friend of the elves. Your little…shadow is under his protection as well," Elrond said, hesitating only slightly.

"His name is Visht," Cerena said. Elrond did not acknowledge it.

"You are allowed anywhere within Imladris that is open to the public. You will be found a place to stay when you are well enough to move. There are still some remnants of orc-venom that need to be dissipated, and then make sure no infection sets into the wound. It is my wish that you keep the boy with you. I do not wish for him to explore un-chaperoned," Elrond intoned.

Cerena nodded, patting her hand against Visht's shoulder. He looked up at her, his bright eyes twinkling with the simplicity of youth. Elrond inclined his head to her, then, and then to Gandalf, before gliding elegantly out of the room. Gandalf leaned on his staff, looking at them.

"What an odd thing you are turning out to be," Gandalf commented. "The boy has stuck like pitch to your side, moving only to let the healers examine you."

"How long have I been out?" she asked.

"Two days. It took only 'til the next nightfall to get to Rivendell on elven horses and you have been recovering since then," he replied. As if in response to his statement, her stomach gave a low growl. Visht giggled and placed his clawed hands over his mouth.

"You belly angry!" he said. She smiled at him, and in the corner of her eye she even saw Gandalf's mustache twitch.

"I will send for some food for both of you," Gandalf said gently. Cerena seemed to hesitate over something.

"How long will you be in Rivendell?" she asked him. He regarded her silently for a few moments.

"Perhaps a week, perhaps a month. I leave when I feel it's time for me to move on. It's why they call me Mithrandir, the-,"

"-Grey Pilgrim," Cerena finished. He was only surprised for a moment, before nodding along.

"Why do you ask?" he inquired of her.

"I think Visht would like to see a bit of Rivendell, and I will probably be stuck recovering for a while longer. I was wondering if you might let him out for some fresh air. Nobody would bother him if he was with you," she said shyly, rubbing her hand along Visht's back. The orcling seemed to perk up a bit, ears upright as he watched Gandalf with curiously innocent ocher eyes. Gandalf lifted a hand.

"Come, Visht. We will take our lunch in the kitchens and let Cerena eat and rest in quiet," he said with a gentle but firm voice. Visht looked at Cerena, who gave him a warm smile and nodded at him. He eased himself off of the bed, landing silently on black leather slippers. He approached Gandalf slowly as if to gauge his reaction. His hands stayed firmly by his side, not lifting to fidget as many children did when they were nervous. Gandalf took the time to study him.

The clothing he was wearing, though dark and of a strange style, was clearly of good quality. His leather shoes were embellished with beads and embroidered with a pattern of blood red flowers. They seemed impractical for the Wild. He had no stockings, and Gandalf could see the small bit of skin from where his shoes began and his pants ended. The trousers themselves were black linen, finely made and also embroidered along the bottom. His tunic was not black, but a deep, shadowy green, with a few fancy swirls sewn in coppery thread around the sleeves and hem. His face was thin with his large ears protruding from his hair, which was braided in many braids away from his face. Despite his coloring he was not a stooping, bow-legged orc. There was something much more refined about this boy. Had he been pink-cheeked with blue eyes, the lad might have looked like the son of a Lord. Had it been so with his mother, too? He wished he had gone back to investigate the body.

By this time the boy had reached him. Gandalf kept his hand held out for the lad. Visht seemed to study his hand for a moment, before sticking out his own, tipped with shiny black claws, and placing it in the wizard's large palm. Then he turned back to his rescuer and waved merrily.

"Bye, 'Reena!" he chirped. She smiled broadly and waved with her good arm.

Gandalf walked out into the hallway with the orc child bouncing along beside him. The boy seemed rather cheerful at the thought of walking about, which Gandalf took as a good thing. He did see a few horrified faces as they walked through the hall, but the lad seemed to take it all in stride. And honestly, he would be the first to admit that it was sometimes entertaining to disrupt the perfect, symmetrical lives of the elves. They were hilariously easy to ruffle.

"Lossa effs!" Visht commented.

"We are in an Elven realm, there are always a lot of elves around," Gandalf commented absently. He supposed he should be more put out by having to play nurse to an orc-child, but he found himself accepting of it. The boy was an exuberant child, and so far it was no chore to see to him. As they exited the Healing wing of the Homely House, they came into a courtyard that was sometimes used for recovering patients. Several large trees dotted the courtyard, complete with wrought iron benches underneath, their filigree backs painted elegantly white. But Visht seemed to all but vibrate with excitement at the sight of the large trees.

"Laus! Laus!" he exclaimed, before pulling his hand from Gandalf's and making haste to the base of one of the trees. He looked up at it for a moment, before leaping up nimbly and grabbing a lower branch. Then he swung his legs up with as much grace as any elf and sprang into the higher branches. He was a bit rowdier in the tree than an elf, as shown by the rustling branches that marked his presence.

"I had heard that there was such a creature in fair Imladris, Mithrandir, but I had hoped my ears had deceived me."

Gandalf turned to see a tall, golden-haired elf striding towards him. The ellon was a bit broader than most elves, his blue eyes almost cat-like in intensity. He was sometimes referred to as the Lion of Rivendell. Glorfindel was not an elf to play with.

"I must say that I was surprised myself, but he was saved by the lady I was sent to retrieve, and I have no quarrel with a child, no matter the race," Gandalf said steadily. Glorfindel was a dangerous warrior and had, at times, a wicked sense of humor, but he was also _extremely _aware of his own self-worth. Mightily arrogant, this one. There was an eager rustle in the trees, and suddenly Visht swung from a branch with one hand. He dismounted the tree with a style that was unusual of his breed. He then scampered back to Gandalf, reaching out and clasping his hand again before his orange eyes found Glorfindel. A sudden calm seemed to come over the lad and he regarded the elf-warrior with something akin to respect.

"Should either creature step a foul toe out of line, I will be more than happy- eager, even- to deal with it personally," Glorfindel practically purred. Visht raised his pointed chin in quiet defiance, puffing out his chest slightly. Glorfindel stared straight at the child. "I will not hesitate to put down even a rabid pup." Visht narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

"Come, Visht. I believe your keeper wanted me to see to your lunch. Let us hasten while I'm still in a generous mood," Gandalf said. Visht walked along with the wizard, but did not take his eyes off of Glorfindel as they walked, and neither did the elf turn away. Their eyes stayed locked until Gandalf and Visht disappeared around a corner. The wizard and orc walked without incident save the disgust and horror etched on many faces, and finally made it to the kitchens.

Gandalf knew many things about most races on Arda. Hobbits loved anything that smelled good and looked good, for they feasted with nose and eyes first, and then with their mouths. Dwarves were a very succulent folk, liking their meats with spices and sauces, and eating very little vegetables. Elves were fond of vegetables, and partook of meat sparingly. Men were fond of meat and vegetables both. Orcs, however, he knew little of. He knew there was little they would not eat, but of their preferences he had no clue.

He had the cooks put together a mish mash of things. Several roasted vegetables, a few types of meat, and a couple little sweet cakes to reward him. Gandalf sat with the boy as he tried to maneuver a heavy silver fork into his mouth. He cleaned the plate, which ended up telling Gandalf nothing of his likes and dislikes. Cerena had seemed displeased with anything that wasn't meat, but she was generally getting used to a new body, so perhaps the boy was used to eating things he didn't necessarily like? The theory made as much sense as anything else…

Then he enjoyed the little sweet cakes, succeeding in spreading yellow crumbs up his face in a way only children were capable of doing. Gandalf took one look at the crumb-strewn green cheeks and chuckled aloud.

All too soon for Visht the little outing was over, and he found himself being led back to the room where Cerena was recovering. He had enjoyed the time with the dushatâr, the Wizard, but he wanted to look on the familiar features of an Orcish face. So when the door was opened to the healing room, he scrambled inside eagerly. Cerena was asleep on the bed, a half-empty tray of fruit and cheese set aside on the table. Gandalf watched as the boy climbed carefully on the bed. When Cerena whimpered in her sleep and shifted slightly, the lad even went so far as to reach up and smooth down her wild, curly hair with small hands and press a gentle kiss to her soft cheek.

Yes indeed, there was something curious about this orc-child.

* * *

When Cerena was finally allowed to leave the infirmary two days later, it was with her arm in a sling and with strict instructions not to lift anything heavy or overexert herself in any way. She had nodded eagerly, wanting desperately to get away from the cramped hospital space. As soon as they had released her, Visht had been off like a firework, making rings around her and the elf that was leading her to a room that Lord Elrond had prepared for her. The elf seemed nervous of the boy at first, but soon seemed to accept that the lad was just that, a lad, as they approached the room.

The elf opened the door to Cerena's room, ushering her inside.

"Mithrandir said he will come to see you soon, and Lord Elrond mentioned that he wanted to have a word with you when you were settled,"

Cerena poked her head in the door and gave a low, impressed whistle. The room was plain by elven standards, but it was exquisite by her personal standards. A large window with a flower box beneath took up space on the side wall, and the scent of fresh flowers permeated the room. A plump, full-size bed rested against the opposite wall and a trunk sat at the edge of the bed. There was a nightstand of carved oak and an oil lamp resting on the top unlit.

A simple but elegant tapestry of embroidered flowers covered some wall space and there was a tall, oaken wardrobe stretched against the closest wall. There was a small alcove of a room off to the side which could be used as a private bath, but she'd been informed that Imladris mostly enjoyed public bathing facilities. A small wood-burning heater stood in the corner, its pipe rising up through the ceiling for its smoke to be taken elsewhere. Rivendell, protected by Vilya, was supposed to enjoy mostly mild weather, but she supposed it could get fairly chilly in deep winter even with Elrond's ring.

Visht entered the room and glanced about himself, as if judging it for himself.

"Visht like. Good for 'Reena," he said in approval. Cerena raised a dark eyebrow at his lordly little exclamation.

"I'm glad you like, Visht," she said, her voice trembling with mirth. Visht nodded.

"Where Visht sleep?" he asked. The elf-maid walked over to the bed and leaned down, withdrawing a child-sized pallet from underneath the bed. It was made up already with a fluffy cushion and pillow, with rich brown sheets and a quilted coverlet with the pattern of a sparrow in flight. Visht made an appreciative noise. "Visht like."

"Lord Elrond will be pleased to hear that his guests are happy with their lodgings," the elf said softly. Then she bowed and excused herself.

"Well, Visht, I guess it's just you and me," Cerena said. Visht nodded along. She walked around the room, looking at the different details. Her own bed was made with dark green sheets and a tawny brown quilt with colorful flowers sewn on with petals made of felt and cotton. She reached out and touched the dark sheets. How curious that they would both be given such dark sheets! Surely dyed sheets like this were much harder to come across in Middle Earth? Sheets of bleached white or un-dyed crème color would be far easier to find, wouldn't they? But why would…

A cold chill made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as a thought came unbidden to her mind. Once, when she was very young, a classmate asked her if she had not bathed in a long time. She had been indignant and told the young boy her mother had made her bathe just that previous night! But in his ignorance of youth, he had asked if she were clean, why was her skin so dark? Had these elves given them dark sheets because they thought them dirty? The thought made her cringe.

She moved away from the bed quickly, opening the wardrobe with curiosity. Inside were several dresses that looked like they _might_ fit her. They were simple elven elegance. Plain by their standards but still quite lovely. There was a pair of leather slippers that looked kind of like Moccasins. There was also a pair of beaded satin slippers that looked like they would be better at a dance then worn every day, not that she would be able to enjoy them…. She had discovered that her toenails were pointed as well as her fingernails and had to ask for thicker slippers so that they wouldn't be torn as she walked. Those delicate slippers in her closet were never going to get worn. She looked at the inner door of the wardrobe, and almost shrieked at what she saw.

There was a large plate of shiny metal attached to the door that served as a mirror. She had not seen her reflection since she'd come to Middle Earth, and she suddenly did not blame Gandalf for his reaction to her at first. She still had her round face and arched lips, but her eyebrows were now much sharper and thicker than before, not masculine, per se, but not exactly feminine. Her lashes were thicker against her slightly darker face, and the skin of her eyelids was a darker shade than the rest of her face, as though she was wearing eyeshadow. But it was her eyes that gave her pause. Before her eyes had been an unassuming brown color. Now they were bright, mustard yellow. Around the iris was a ring of dark yellow that defined it, and her pupil was slitted like a cat's. She glanced to the side, reaching up a clawed hand to push aside her curls.

Most people might be intrigued or excited to have pointy ears. God knows how many stories she'd read where the protagonist woke up as an elf. Lucky bitches. And she might have shown some of the same exuberance for her new ears, if they had been the light, delicate points of the elves. Instead her ears seemed bigger. They protruded slightly from her head and the point of the shell of her ear was sharp. Before she had round lobes; the kind that was slightly low and unattached from the head. Now her lobes were short and connected with her jawline.

She opened her mouth, looking at the fangs she had felt when she first woke up. They were strange to her eyes. Her eyeteeth had been elongated sharply, and the teeth just closest her two front teeth were pointed as well. She lifted a finger and pulled down her bottom lip, looking at the fangs on her lower teeth. Then she lowered her hand and bared her teeth at the mirror. God! She looked a right mess! She quickly closed the wardrobe door, feeling vastly overwhelmed. She looked over to see Visht staring out the window, his head tilted towards where the wind blew as the air moved his dark braids.

"Well...wanna go explore?" she asked. Visht turned to her and nodded, climbing down from the chair he hand been standing on and rushing up to her, his hand stuck out for her. So Cerena took his hand and they walked back into the hallway. They walked along the sprawling hallways of the Homely House. Sometimes Visht would stop and stare at some of the tapestries. Cerena didn't know the stories of them, so she could only nod as Visht spoke in excited but unintelligible words. There were a few times when the tapestries depicted scenes in which a seething, writhing mass of dark thread was supposed to represent orcs, and the shining thread-woven elves were coming down on them like brilliant embodiments of revenge. Visht whimpered at one of them, his little fingers hovering over the dark blob of the army, before he turned away and swiped at his eyes suspiciously.

As they walked, her mind seemed to race with what had happened the last few days. Just a few days previous she had been doing just fine: her comfortable schedule for work, coming home to a quiet house to enjoy a few movies, or to play her piano and sing. Then she had met Gandalf. She did not know just yet why he had first told her to call him Olórin. She could always ask him later, she supposed. But it _had_ made her much less suspicious. It was unlikely that someone would have named him such a recognizable name as Gandalf, but the more obscure name for the Grey Wizard seemed fair enough game for enthusiastic parents to name a child. Heck, she'd once known a guy who named his son Anakin. Poor kid…

And now she was taking care of a kid whose luck seemed to have only barely held up. She could have well paid for her interference with her life. But Visht was such a lively thing, and so happy! How could he be an orc? Did not the orcs hate themselves and everything around them? Were they not miserable creatures full of darkness and with foul, festering souls?

Why was she even here? Why had she been chosen out of thousands…_millions_ of people to come here and deal with such a problem? Why had she been turned into an orc? Sure, she had read many stories about people falling into Middle Earth. She'd had the passing thought that it would be fun to come to a world from a fan's perspective. What LoTR fan wouldn't want to visit Arda? What Harry Potter fan wouldn't want to see Hogwarts? What Star Wars fan wouldn't love to be trained up as a Jedi? Hunger Games fans…well…she was quite all right with her lot in life before, and even now. No need to have the Hunger Games. She wouldn't make a very lively Tribute anyway…

They walked into a large garden where many elves were lounging in the pleasant afternoon sun. Some lay among the lush grasses, staring up at the sky. Some were in the low branches of slender trees holding books or small needlepoints. One elf was blowing at a little wooden pipe as he leaned against a tree.

"This place is pretty, huh, Visht?" she asked.

"Akh, akh! Lovely! Smell nice!" he exclaimed, his own pointed white teeth showing as he grinned widely. The sound of his voice made a couple of the elves look over. A few murmured loudly at their appearance.

"I suddenly smell something _most_ foul! Is that what orc smells like?" An elf-maiden asked, waving her hand in front of her nose as though a great stench assailed her. Cerena shifted nervously back and forth on the slippers she had been given to wear in the place of her canvass shoes.

"What hideous creatures. I do not understand why Lord Elrond hasn't had them burned with the rest of the garbage of Imladris," Another spat.

"Lord Elrond above all should know the cruelty and callousness of orcs!"

Visht did not fully understand what they were saying, but he could well smell the change that came over Cerena. She had smelled of excitement to be out and about. Suddenly her scent changed to shame and fear. He turned to her, tugging her uninjured arm gently.

"Come on, little one. We'll…go somewhere else," she said. Her voice sounded strange to his ears, too, as if her words were shaking.

"'Reena?" he asked. She looked down at him, smiling a smile that did not reach her pretty yellow eyes. Visht thought his savior very pretty. Not as pretty as Amzi, his kranklob, but certainly a lovely, kind soul. She tugged him along gently, and he turned his head as they walked back out of the pretty garden. One of the elf ladies sneered at him. He might not know a lot, but he knew what hatred looked like. He was not stupid. His face twisted into a frown.

"Zan kurv!" he spat back at her. The elves shivered at the sound of the Black Speech. Cerena's eyebrows went up.

"What did you call her?" she asked as they walked away. Visht seemed to think for a moment, trying to translate what he had said into the Common. Then he smiled, and it wasn't very pleasant.

"Elf whore," he said vindictively. Cerena's dark eyebrows may as well have shot off her face. Then her head tilted back and her eyelids dropped slightly.

"That was mean," she said. Visht had a look on his face that clearly said 'Uh…yeah…' so she merely winked at him. "Good job."

Visht looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

"But don't do it again."

"_Awh_…"

* * *

"So she's dead then?"

The messenger was on his knees, his hands planted in supplication before the seated figure.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. We did not get there in time to save her," the messenger said.

"And the boy?"

The messenger shifted. He did not fear death for what had happened, but a painful lashing was always a possibility.

"He was taken by another. She came across the queen in the forest and the boy was passed along to her. She is of our kind," he finally replied. If he was going to be whipped then so be it. The figure leaned forward in his carved wooden seat.

"Snaga?" he asked, a non-ignorable tendril of fear making his heart thump painfully. But his messenger shook his head, taking a risk and raising his head. His pale green eyes shone in the torchlight.

"She had the look of the Isengard brats about her," he said. The figure in the seat cursed colorfully. "But she did not have their smell, or their stature. The grey wizard was also with her. She took an arrow defending the boy, and from what I gathered they were on their way into the Elf Valley," he finished. There was a sharp inhalation of breath.

"My son is with elves?"

"I would have challenged them for him, my king, but I was but one. The others were killed in that ambush of Lessers. The grey wizard told the elves not to harm either of them, of course the prissy little elves were getting bent out of shape about it…" the messenger snickered.

"I do not find it funny that the crown prince is being held by the elves," came the sharp reply. The messenger sobered quickly. Yup…looked like that whipping was pretty much guaranteed now.

"He appeared safe with the girl. She was holding on to him as though she cared," the messenger back-pedaled a bit. The king sat back in his chair, reaching up clawed hands to scrub tiredly at his face. The messenger was surprised at the moment of candidness. When the hands were lowered, bright orange eyes snapped with authority.

"Fetch my captain for me. We _will_ be getting back my son, even if I have to march on the Hidden Valley to do so!" he barked. The messenger nodded, coming to his feet and bowing.

"Of course, King Durbûrz," the messenger said. The king watched him go; making sure the sniveling little mouse was gone before he slumped in his wooden throne. The queen was dead and his son in the hands of elves! This new female creature was intriguing, he would admit, and she would come by no harm as long as his son was safe.

"Visht, my son. Would that your mother had not insisted on traveling…"

And with a sigh of torment he drew himself up, adjusting the crown of black, twisted metal on his brow, and walked down the dais and out of the throne room, where his advisors waited for him. It was going to be a long night…

* * *

Huh. Imagine that.

I took great pains to plan out exactly what is going on. I'm not flopping blindly with this one. Now, my next update will probably be Dragon's Destiny. I updated this one because I had already written out most of this chapter before I posted the story. So I'm at the end of my pre-written material, but I've already got ideas for chapter four. Fear not, loyal readers.

Translations:

Amzi – Mama (informal. More of a pet name)

Visht nalt. All vadokan. - Visht alone. All dead.

Golug nûl Visht? - Elf hurt Visht?

Nar, Visht. Elrond narnûl. - No, Visht. Elrond not hurt (you).

Lat flas? - You speak?

Flas nardur. Flas pa-shi? - Speak little. Speak common?

Laus - Tree

Akh – Yes

Kranklob – Mother (title. Formal)

Zan kurv - Elf whore

I was overwhelmed by the grand support from the last chapter, and I only hope that I deserve such greatness with this chapter as well. :3

If you haven't, I would love for you to favorite and/or follow the story, which lets others know that it's worth reading, and if you have a few extra moments to spare I would love a review!


	4. Poor Unfortunate Souls

Well, I would have had this out a few days earlier but:

I started a new job.

I was writing the chapter and autosave decided to be a bitch after my Windows Automatic updates knocked me off of the computer.

So I got it up when I could. (That's what he said *giggle*) It's not _quite _as long as I've been making chapters, but with two stories going on and having had to redo this chapter, I felt good with it. :) I have been quite pleased with the outpouring of support for this story, and look forward to lots of reviews.

Heatblizzard – as a guest I couldn't PM you. :( I will answer the economic questions you have of Visht's peoples as the story progresses. I have not had anyone mistake or misinterpret what I'm saying when I review, but I have had a few reviewers before just up and quit a story. I had a guy stop reading a Harry Potter fanfiction one time because it wasn't 'realistic enough.' I was like _Bitch you're reading a story about a f***king wizard. It's not supposed to be realistic._ Needless to say I was't too upset they disappeared, although I do wonder sometimes why such good stories get shoved aside for…like you said…crap. Ah well…

Borys68 – Visht has the appearance of a four/five year old. :3 If that tells you anything…

* * *

Chapter 4 – Poor Unfortunate Souls

She should have seen it coming. She should have known that the relative peace and joy they had enjoyed for the past three days wouldn't last very long. But she had been optimistic, and not knowing very much about children had been her downfall. Visht had woken in a troublesome mood. He hadn't wanted to wear the brighter colored clothes that had been provided for him while his own clothes were being washed. He had scratched her angrily when she tried to fix his braids, causing her to bleed from one of the marks.

And now they were at the dinner table, and he was dangerously close to losing it completely as she tried to coax him into eating his vegetables. He had devoured the bits of chicken breast he'd been served and wanted more, but Cerena wouldn't give in until he ate some more of his vegetables. He was a growing boy, after all, orc or no orc, and he needed proper sustenance. They were at the end of their table with a large berth around them. No one wanted to sit near them, which was fine so far as Cerena was concerned. It was even better now, since Visht was grumbling and pouting in the Black Speech.

"Come on, Visht. If you eat your vegetables then you can have another piece of chicken," she said, holding a spoonful of freshly cut roasted corn off of the cob. "Come on," she coaxed again, and he slapped his hand up, knocking the spoon from her fingers and scattering corn kernels. "That was rude!" she said sharply, picking up the spoon and trying to clean up what he had spilled.

"Sha! No want zarza!" he snapped. His little fists were balled up and his arms were crossed over his chest as he tucked his chin down determinedly. She couldn't see his orange eyes shimmering with tears, or the precarious wobbling of his lower lip.

"Vegetables are good for you, and you need to eat a few. You can't eat just meat!" Cerena said reasonably.

"No want veggerbulls!" he shrieked, shoving his fist out and knocking over the little wooden cup he'd been given to drink from. Fruit juice spilled over the table cloth, and Cerena thanked her lucky stars that it was a relatively dark cloth. "Want…want Amzi!" And then he lost his battle with his emotions spectacularly and burst into noisy tears. Cerena could feel her face flushing in painful mortification as heads turned her way.

"…-can't control him!"

"…-expect from an animal!"

"…-disgusting!"

Cerena couldn't pick him up because of the remnant of the arrow wound in her shoulder. It was healing nicely, but picking up a child would definitely fall under the category of 'strenuous activity.' She reached out and tried to stroke his shoulder, but he slashed out at her with his claws, nicking the top of her hand.

"Miss Cerena."

She looked up to see Lord Elrond behind her, an unreadable expression on his face. She looked embarrassed and close to tears herself.

"I'm sorry…he's been upset all day…" she stuttered. He merely waved a hand in a gentle motion to forestall her words. Then he surprised her by leaning down and putting his hands under Visht's arms to lift him up. Visht immediately wrapped his gangly arms around Elrond's neck as the strong arms shifted to support him, and then the long legs wrapped around his waist. His wailing sobs shook the boy's small frame with their force.

"Come," Elrond said, turning and walking away from the table. Cerena stood from her place and followed meekly behind, her eyes downcast.

"_Monster_."

She paused only for a moment when she heard the whispered word, but then her steps began again and she walked out of the Dining Hall, following Lord Elrond. They walked the hallways of Imladris, eventually traveling along a lesser used hallway. He led her into a spacious office that was obviously his own personal study as well. Three of the four walls were covered with expansive shelves and lined with books. The wide shelves even had a few spaces for the handful of decorative items that were lying around.

A large mahogany desk sat gracefully in the natural light of the opposite wall, which sported many maps and charts. Large, high-backed chairs sat in front of the desk in a sort of meeting area, and it was here that Elrond walked with his bundle, sitting down in one of the upholstered chairs and adjusting his burden. He motioned quietly for Cerena to take a seat in one of the other chairs. She did so nervously, pressing her knees together under her skirt and twisting her fingers.

After a while, Visht's sobs began to peter out, leaving behind only snuffling hiccups. He raised his head then, looking at Elrond's face and then at his shoulder, where a damp spot showed on the fine robes.

"I sorry, eff-sir. I make robes wet," he whispered, touching the place where his tears had dampened the fabric. Elrond merely gave a serene smile.

"You seemed quite upset, little one. Whatever happened?" he asked. Visht hiked up one shoulder, his hand reaching up to play idly with the end of one of the small braids that held back Elrond's hair. The texture of the elf-lord's hair was similar to his own, but he did not voice this opinion.

"Didn't wanna wear eff-clothes," he started. "Wanted my clothes back."

"Well, your clothes were being washed so they could be returned to you," Elrond said reasonably. Visht huffed a bit.

"Didn't wanna change braids. Like 'Reena, but she not very good at braiding," he whispered into the elf's ear. Cerena heard him, of course, but only gave a watered smile. Elrond smiled indulgently at the lad.

"Well, she was only trying to help. Surely it wasn't very nice to yell and her and scratch her?" he asked gently. Visht shook his head, nibbling at his lip a bit.

"No. I sorry, 'Reena," he whimpered. Cerena's smile changed to a more genuine one.

"Apology accepted, kiddo," she said. He smiled at the sound of her short name for him, before the smile faded quickly. He looked bothered as he continued to play idly with Elrond's braid. Elrond merely waited patiently for the boy to continue.

"Then…then Visht just wanted Amzi," he said, his voice breaking. "But Amzi gone. Amzi leave Visht alone. Visht miss Amzi!" His brows furrowed as his little face crumpled, turning back into Elrond's shoulder and heaving great, choking sobs. Elrond looked over to see Cerena crying too, tears making dark trails on her brown cheeks.

Elrond placed his hand on Visht's back and began to tilt his own body back and forth slightly in a rocking motion. He was unsure what an Elvish Hymn, which was his chosen lullaby of sorts, would do, so instead he began to hum softly. Visht cried for a while, before once again the emotional upheaval began to taper off. This time, the snuffling whimpers faded off into deep breathing, his breath hitching occasionally as he fell into slumber.

"I was expecting this much sooner, actually," Elrond said immediately. Cerena sighed.

"It's because I'm doing such a horrible job as his caretaker, isn't it? I just wanted to do good by him, but I can't seem to get it right…" she said in a self-deprecating manner.

"You have done just fine for your inexperience," Elrond said. "You saved him. Then you connected with him in a way no one else here could have. But eventually everything that happened was going to catch up with him, and his age was no help dealing with his emotions."

"He's really just a sweetie," Cerena replied. Elrond looked down slightly, where the green-skinned fingers were still touching his braid. One of the elf's long-fingered hands reached up and gently covered the boy's smaller one, bringing the clawed fingers away from his hair. Cerena was struck with the gentleness of his movements, but she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Elrond had raised two sons and a daughter. He knew what children acted like. And he knew the effect grief could have on a child. "I hate he lost his mother. I only…I only wonder why those other orcs were after her?" she commented lightly. A brief tightening of Elrond's expression was the only indication of him reacting to her statement.

"Do orcs need a reason to slaughter and torture?" he asked in return. It was that moment that Visht chose to shift in his grip, nibbling at his lower lip as he snuggled deeply into the embrace of the elf-lord.

"…Amzi…" Visht murmured, before shifting his hand and shoving his knuckles into his mouth.

"I suppose Eru is urging me to reconsider…?" Elrond asked dryly, looking at the lad's sleeping face.

"Eru works in mysterious ways," Cerena commented idly. Elrond looked up sharply, studying her face.

"He certainly does," he replied. "I am most curious to see how His Will is carried out."

"It shall be glorious."

They looked up to see Gandalf standing there, looking ever so wizardly in his grey robes and pointed hat, leaning on his staff as though for support.

"How are you so sure? How do you know I won't mess everything up?" Cerena asked.

"The Valar sent me to fulfill Eru's will and bring you to this place. Your presence is a great catalyst," he said.

"But sometimes catalysts fail. What if what will be happens because I failed?" Cerena asked sharply. Elrond was watching her closely.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. Gandalf sighed.

"I suppose I haven't been completely honest with you, my friend. Cerena wasn't just a random being I found wandering around, who happened to be a Seer of Orcish descent. She speaks of the future with such certainty because she's lived it," he said. Elrond stared at him blankly.

"…what?"

"The future is a place of darkness, my lord. The elves have left the shores of the western lands, and their light is no longer seen. Men will love only themselves and their money. They will be boastful and proud, scoffing at Eru, disobedient to their parents, and ungrateful. They will consider nothing sacred. Their world is a sterile, loveless place…" she said.

"Are there no orcs? Sauron has fallen?" Elrond asked.

"No Orcs and no Sauron, but the men are worse than either of them in many ways. It's fairly simple to identify evil here. It's impossible to tell the good apart from the bad in that world," Cerena said, thinking of the corrupt politicians and the lawyers who would defend a murderer for the right amount of money.

"So you are actually from the future?" Elrond asked, just for his own clarification. Cerena shifted, but nodded. "But you just said there were no orcs. How are you from the future?"

"Ah…this is an intervention on the part of the Valar. I believe they shifted her form," Gandalf said. Elrond looked incredulous.

"But why? What could the transformation of a maiden into an orc possibly accomplish?" he asked.

"Perhaps there is a way for the twisted ones to regain the honor they lost when their souls were destroyed by Morgoth?" Gandalf asked. Elrond sucked in a breath.

"There can be no return. The Light of the Elder has gone out on them, and they are in eternal Darkness and separation from the ones who were once their brothers. Many generations lie between now and the original Damned," Elrond was quick to point out.

"No one has ever tried to rekindle a Light in the creatures. Is it impossible or just difficult?" she asked.

"If you break a cup and piece it back together, the cracks are still there. You may have even lost some of the pieces in the process," Elrond countered logically.

"But if there are no cracks in the vessel, then how will Eru's light shine through?" she asked, using an argument similar to what her mother used to tell her about God. God didn't want perfect people, he wanted willing people. She had never made up her decision on whether she truly believed in God, but there were many sayings and teachings that she enjoyed from church. This was one of them.

She was in the unique position of _knowing_ that Eru existed. He had Sung the universe into existence after all. He had created the Ainur, and they had begun the Ainulindalë , the Great Song. The Ainur created the Maiar, like Gandalf, to be their assistants. It was all much more convoluted than that, but the gist of it was that it was _real._ And she _knew it._

"The only thing I don't know is…how I'm supposed to help? I can't fight or defend myself, much less anyone else. I like books and I'm not good for much," she said in a self-deprecating way.

"That is just what Bilbo thought of himself. And you know how that story ended…" Gandalf said wryly. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I should hope…that you are not going to find anymore dragons to conquer," she snipped. Gandalf merely smiled serenely.

"I will do what I am told by my Betters. It's much simpler that way," he said. She tilted her head back and looked at him, her eyes narrow. "Besides…defense skills are learned by no one overnight. The sills you feel you lack can be taught to you."

"Who here wants to teach an orc? They all want me to die horrible, bloody deaths," Cerena replied, frowning.

"Lord Glorfindel has been complaining about a distinct lack of responsibilities. I shall appoint him to your training. You can start in a few days," Elrond said, as if the matter were closed.

"So you're just gonna shove me with the Balrog slayer?" she asked, her voice a little squeaky. "I'm smaller and much more stabbable than a Balrog….he'll make mince-meat of me…" she whimpered. Elrond laughed, jarring Visht slightly and making the boy blink his eyes open sleepily.

"Glorfindel will not purposely seek to harm you," he tried to reassure, but there was a cold lump of nervousness dropping into her stomach.

"Famous last words," she gulped. But she knew her fate had been decided from the serene looks on both of their faces. Gandalf's mustache twitched.

"Everything will work out just fine."

* * *

"Are the wolves saddled and ready to go?"

King Durbûrz stood in front of his general, tightening the belt that held his long, darkly glittering sword. A deep crimson cloak fell over his shoulders, contrasting starkly with the black metal chest-plate and black leather vambraces he was wearing. His lightweight black boots were polished, and his long black hair was braided sleekly back in warrior's braids. On his brow sat an informal circlet with a pendant of an upside-down crescent resting just against his forehead.

"The wolves are ready, and the soldiers are ready to mount them," his general commented, his pale yellow eyes darting about the clearing they were standing in. Morning sunlight speckled down through the canopy. Durbûrz gave a light grin as a shaft of sunlight fell across his cheek.

Where the Lessers, the snaga, would cringe and whimper in the light of Aan, the sun, his Folk were made of hardier stuff than that. It did nothing more than warm his green-toned cheeks. He smiled widely, his sharp fangs glinting in the light.

"My Lord?" came the soft voice of his general. He turned to him. "If I may?" he inquired. The smile faded from the king's face.

"May…what?" he asked.

"You have only brought twenty soldiers with you. This would not be enough to take the Prince back by force. It is little more than your guard…" he commented.

"I will need no more than that," the king replied.

"This will reveal us to the Elves," the general tried a different tactic.

"Good. Long have we skirted civilization. Long have we lived our lives from the shadows. No longer. The elves can get off of their cushiony little high horses," he said, stepping up to his long-legged, lupine mount. The wolf was as huge as a horse, its body thick with sinewy muscle. Luxurious fur made the body sleek and shiny, the black fur almost shimmering in the morning sun. The long legs ended in broad paws tipped with sharp claws. Its neck was long and tipped with a strong head with broad jaws. There was a crown of thick fur around this wolf's head that made him look almost leonine in appearance. A dark, thin leather saddle was tied tightly to the beast. It was similar to a horse's saddle, but it was not quite as large or heavy.

"Are you ready to ride, Fleepaw?" the king asked, putting his booted foot into the stirrup and swinging up elegantly. The wolf shook its thick crest of fur. There were thin leather reigns for directing the wolf, but there was no bit so that the teeth could be free to bit and snap.

"Aye, Master. Let us go," the wolf replied in a steady, deep voice. Ah…the joys of selective genetic breeding. Their wolves were crossed many times with the Snaga Wargs, creating more even-tempered and intelligent creatures. That could talk. It was much easier to converse with your mount with actual words.

The King raised up in his saddle slightly and held out his hand. He heard the soldiers and his general mounting their wolves behind him. The general was dressed similarly to him, but he did not wear the crescent circlet, and his cloak was black and trimmed with silver. The soldiers of his guard wore leather armor and cloaks trimmed with red.

Their wolves began to move forward, making five lines of four wolves abreast to walk down the road. Their pace was leisurely, having no need or want to push themselves needlessly. If anyone ran across them let them tell the elves. Let the elves know they were coming.

Let the prancing little bitches know that they were coming for the Prince.

* * *

Ooh la la. Some guestimation on the parts of Cerena, Gandalf and Elrond, and some general adorableness from Visht.

You might recognize the wolves' idea from my previous story. I like the idea of cross-bred wolves and Wargs. I call them Warfs. Lol.

Well, if you haven't, I hope you follow and favorite the story, and of course I hope you leave me a little review to let me know how you liked the chapter. It wasn't too action-y, I know, but there will be plenty of it next time. :D


	5. Be Prepared

Well, everyone. I am eager to put this one out. I believe that with my alternating schedule of chapter postings, I may take a little longer to get stories out, but in the end I am posting two stories simultaneously and it's quite time consuming. I was excited about the reaction from last chapter, and I hope I answer some questions in this chapter, as well as add to the mystery and intrigue. :D

As always, your reviews are much appreciated and are an inspiration to my writing. (Just because I'm posting in a staggered pattern, doesn't mean I only work on one story at a time. I usually have both stories up and going each time, and just bounce between them depending on how long it takes me to write the one I'm currently posting.)

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Chapter 5 – Be Prepared

She gulped as she stared up into the foreboding face of the Elf-warrior, Glorfindel. His blue eyes were intense, seeming to glow just as brightly as he did. She could hear Visht humming nearby, playing with a little wooden horse that Lord Elrond had appropriated for him. It was a generic little toy, well-worn with age, that they kept in toy boxes when visitors brought along their children. Visht had abandoned the little wooden elf-rider for the horse, and was making what he felt was the appropriate sounds for the horse.

"You would not be able to pick up a sword, much less swing it," Glorfindel said, looking down his nose at her. She gulped again. "I will be giving you exercises to start doing every day. They will gradually intensify. You must build your strength. You're also soft and…pudgy…" he said, giving her a once-over that made her feel ashamed.

"I'm not fat…" she argued weakly.

"You can barely fit in that dress. I can practically hear the seams screaming for mercy," he sneered. She inhaled sharply, her eyes glimmering suspiciously.

"I have wide hip-bones. All the ellyth I've seen have narrow hips and teeny waists, and this dress was made for elves," she retorted.

"Hmm. No matter. You still need to trim down. Here," he said, handing her a list. "This is what you'll be eating for the next six months. While you are doing your lighter exercises we will cut your food intake slightly to help shed some of the weight. Then when your training begins we will allow for more calories in proteins and vegetables so that you can function. This is not an overnight skill," he said, as if trying to convince her to quit. She was very, very tempted to just agree with him and then run sobbing off into the forest. But instead she nodded.

"I understand," she acquiesced. He frowned.

"Very well. We will begin with me showing you the stretches you will be doing the next few days," he said.

"But my shoulder…" she trailed off when she saw the scowl on his face.

"Warriors are hurt all the time and do not run sobbing from the training field. You will have to be vigilant of your wound, yes, but it does not mean that you cannot do stretches. This will help with your mobility and limberness," he said. Then he spent the next thirty minutes carefully stretching out her arms and showing her how to stretch her legs. It was a little like yoga, she thought, as she extended both arms in front of her and lifted her leg out to the side. As he showed her the poses he looked so graceful and lithe, and several times Cerena had to pinwheel her arms just to keep from falling.

Finally, mercifully, he stopped her.

"That is enough for today. You will do these stretches every morning and every night for two weeks before we implement the next phase," he said. "If I find out you've skipped your stretches, I will whip you like the horse of a Southerner," he sneered. She laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking or not. He merely narrowed his eyes at her, turned on his heel, and walked away. She sighed softly to herself, wincing as her shoulder throbbed painfully.

Oh well. What was the old saying again? Oh yea…no pain no gain.

* * *

They sat by the fire, enjoying a small but hot meal. Their mounts made a ring around the edge of their camp, the brilliant eyes scanning the landscape and watching for trouble for their masters. The King sat a little way off from his men, staring up at the twinkling lights that lit up the sky brilliantly. His folk could still remember the joy of the stars, though most of them didn't understand it. The Elves glowed under the light of the stars, their eldritch holiness amplified underneath the light of their most favored Vala.

The snaga hated the light of the sun, but did not rejoice in the light of the moon, either. They were wretched and cursed under any light, and gloried only in the dank, dark holes that they dug for themselves, or appropriated from others (in the case of the Moria orcs.)

Aan did not burn their eyes and skin, Han did not make them recoil, and Elbereth's lights filled the High Orcs with hope, but most had long forgotten the reason why.

His citrine eyes were drawn to his wolf as he approached, the strap of his bag in his jaws as he dragged it to his master. His dark brows furrowed slightly, until he noticed the bag was squirming slightly. He narrowed his eyes at the bag, and then looked at his wolf. Fleepaw dropped the bag at his side.

"I smelled him earlier," the Wolf said. King Durbûrz lifted the flap on his satchel and opened the leather. Two blue eyes looked up out of the darkness of the bag, before a white snout emerged.

"By Morgoth, River, you are far too clever for your own good," he growled good naturedly. River was one of their unique wolf-breeds. He was a tiny thing, bred for the amusement and companionship of those who did not ride the large Wolves. The people of Gondor had done something similar with dogs. River was a runt by their standards. He had been abandoned by his mother and had fallen into a small mountain stream near the palatial caves where Durbûrz resided with his council and family. On an outing just a few weeks ago he had been found by Visht, who had adopted him and named him for the place he had been found. The little wolves did not have the power of speech like their larger cousins, but they were fiercely loyal and incredibly smart.

River barked at his master's father, drawing the attention of a few of the men by the fire. One of them smirked.

"We should have known that little runt would have found a way to be here when we get his master," he said.

"River is as smart as any here," Durbûrz acquiesced.

"'Specially old Stargush," the soldier sniggered. On the other side of the fire a shorter figure raised his head.

"And you can go die in a fucking hole, you little cunt-sniffer," the other one growled. His features were far more twisted than the others, his face a perpetual grimace and scarred with three heavy white lines across his face.

"Enough, boys. I daresay I don't want to be digging Stargush's dagger out of your kidney in the morning," the King said, his fingers rubbing over River's upright, tufted ears. River made appreciative growling noises. Durbûrz broke off a piece of their chewy way-bread and let the little wolfling gnaw on it.

"My Lord, if you are ready to sleep, we can set up the tent for you," one of the guards said, standing and gesturing vaguely to one of the packs that had been strapped to the backs of their wolves. Durbûrz merely smirked.

"Tharm, when have I ever slept in a tent, in all the years you have been in my personal company?" the king asked. The guard merely shrugged.

"I'll always ask, my Lord. The King deserves all the comfort he could wish for. And I wish to be the one to provide him with his comfort, if he wishes," Tharm said, putting his hand to his breast and bowing low.

"Well it's unnecessary…" Durbûrz stated. "But appreciated," he amended, and saw his guard puff out his chest a bit when he stood from his bow, looking inordinately pleased. "Return to your rest. We will relieve the wolves shortly in watch. We are getting closer to the elf-borders," he finished.

"How can you tell, my Lord?" Thaum asked curiously. Durburz merely smiled mysteriously, reaching to his left hand and resting his fingers on a black ring on his finger. It was made of three braided bands of metal with a twinkling yellow gem set into the band. Thaum looking curiously at where the King's fingers touched, but all his eyes saw was a dark glimmer.

"One of the Three is nearby, and it protects the borders. I can feel its energy," he replied. River sniffed at his finger, his ears upright and curious, before he turned blue eyes to Thaum. The wolfling tilted its head.

"Rr?" he inquired. Thaum shrugged.

"The King is allowed his secrets, little one, so we will let him keep them," he said, before bowing once more and turning back to the fire. Durbûrz smiled as a small crackled of energy passed over his fingertip as he touched the ring.

"Silly elves and their silly rings."

* * *

"Splish splashy!"

Cerena sighed and wiped water from her face again. She was trying to wash Visht's hair, but was more excited to splash around than to bathe. At her request, an elf maid had brought up a smaller tub and some pleasantly hot water for a child-sized bath. She had been provided with a bottle of shampoo and a small bar of soap. Visht thought it was all good fun, and smacked his hand against the water again. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Come on, let's get squeaky clean for the picnic," she said, lathering up his fine locks with the fruity scented shampoo that had been provided for her.

"Visht smell like effs now!" he laughed as she let the lather sit. She rinsed off her hands in the water and grabbed the soft bathing cloth. She lathered it up with the bar of soap and started with his neck and behind his large, pointed ears. He laughed tickilishly when she brushed over the tips and allowed her to wash up his arms and over his chest. Then she stood him up and let him hold onto her while she washed his legs, giggling again when she washed his little feet and between the pointy-nailed toes as well. "'Reena not wash Visth bottom?" he asked, waggling said part towards Cerena.

"Geez, Visht, don't put someone's eye out!" she laughed, giving him a playful pat across his bottom with her cloth covered hand. He giggled and then turned around when the part had been cleaned.

"Tha other side, too! Not forget the dangly!" he said, much to her mortification. She made a quick but thorough swipe and then sat him back down to rinse off the soap.

"You're a naughty little boy," she grumbled, torn between laughing and banging her head against the wall. She was distracted from her torment by a distant knock on her outside door. She looked down at the freshly rinsed Visht. "There's somebody at the door, my dear," she said, pushing his wet hair off of his face. "You stay here and let 'Reena go see who's visiting," she said, standing and grabbing the towel to dry her hands and the water from her face.

She padded on bare feet to the door, pulling it open just as her visitor was about to knock again. It was Lord Elrond himself, looking Lordly and peaceful as ever. He lowered his hand, but his eyebrows twitched upwards at the sight of her looking…damp.

"It's bath time," she said in way of explanation. His eyes twinkled merrily.

"I have brought something for the two of you," he said, holding out two boxes. "It is traditional to wear something new to the festival, so I had these made for the two of you."

"Oh, Lord Elrond…you didn't have to get us anything. Everything here has been new to us," she said, her face flushing slightly.

"It is my duty to see to the comfort and welcome of my guests. Besides, it was no trouble, and Mithrandir thought it a marvelous idea and contributed to the effort as well," he said.

"'Reena who here?"

She turned to see Visht standing behind her, naked as the day he was born and showing no shame about it. She choked on air.

"Visht! Lord Elrond doesn't want to see all that!" she said. Visht looked down, and then back up, noting the look of horror on Cerena's face, and the way Lord Elrond's mouth was twitching, before pouting in confusion.

"Why? Effs have danglies too!" he stated. If she could have willed the floor to open up and swallow her whole, she would have done so in that moment. She covered her face with her hands as Elrond began to laugh aloud.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. He held out the boxes for her.

"I had twin sons, Miss Cerena, and when they were that small they were very proud of their own anatomy. Celebrían and I couldn't keep them in clothes. We would find the clothes in their room and two naked elflings in the trees in the gardens. It caused quite a scandal among the Ladies of Rivendell," he laughed. She took the boxes, still looking horrified.

"Thank you for the gift, my Lord," she said, bowing to him slightly. Still smiling, he inclined his head.

"I shall see you both at the festival, then?" he asked. She nodded, and he turned and walked away, still smiling. Cerena shut the door and turned to Visht, who was still looking confused about why Cerena had put up a fuss.

"Sometimes Amzi and Apzi are nekky together," Visht said innocently. Cerena used the boxes Elrond had given her to smack herself in the head.

"Sweet salty Morgoth."

* * *

Visht skipped along ahead of her, singing some kind of horrifically cheerful sounding song in the Black Speech. It sounded like musical dying. His new slippers were leather with stars tooled onto the tongue of the shoe. He was also wearing brown cotton pants and a festive orange shirt that matched his eyes, with pretty leaves embroidered in green and white around the hem and the edges of his neck and sleeves. His hair was braided back in a single long braid and fastened with a pretty wooden clasp that had been given to him with his outfit.

Cerena was sporting a lovely dress of light blue that did not pull at the hips and bust. It had been made just for her, with a calf-length skirt and pretty bell-sleeves. There were purple and pink flowers embroidered into the sleeves, and a belt of silver at her waist. She had been given new slippers too, that were just her size and would not be cut by her pointed toenails. There were even two holes that she could thread ribbon through and tie onto the tongue for decoration. Her hair was braided halfway back her head, and then left down in a curly cloud. She'd been given lightly scented oil at her request to keep the curls soft and manageable.

The festival they were going to was a traditional spring celebration that the elves had every five years. Through her conversations and such, she had discovered that it was March of the year 3013 of the Third Age. This was both good and bad. It was good, because she had not messed up any important things by diverting Gandalf when she had. He had been on his way to check up on Frodo, but according to her internal Lord of the Rings timeline, he had been a little early. Gandalf didn't go to the Shire until April of 3018 for his proclamation to Frodo.

She was in a unique situation. She knew everything that was going to happen, but she also knew that messing with things could be dire. She had told Gandalf that he had not destroyed anything by putting off his trip, but she would not tell him when he was supposed to go. This had mildly miffed him, but he had understood her burden. Besides, he was just going to pop in and out of the Shire to check on Frodo. He had mentioned something about heading to Isengard to seek the council of Saruman before going to Minas Tirith for a bit of research. She had kept her mouth firmly shut about Saruman, not having decided what, if anything, she might say about him.

The festival itself was merry and fun to watch, and had served several purposes for Cerena. She had gotten to go outside and play with Visht. Visht had gotten to meet old Bilbo Baggins, who had been curious and insatiable about the little orc-child. Visht had been excited to have someone close to his size.

But Cerena had gotten to meet Arwen. Arwen was a bright, lovely soul with a disposition as kind as her father's. She had taken Cerena's hand without fear or revulsion and had even kissed her cheek. Cerena had felt low and unworthy in her presence.

"This is a very lovely color on you," Arwen said kindly, brushing her long, elegant fingers over the material of the sleeves. Cerena smiled.

"I like it very much. Your father was very kind to have it made," she replied. Arwen laughed, a musical tinkling that put Cerena at ease.

"My father is very thoughtful and kind for someone of his status. Many nobles, mortal and elf alike, tend to be snotty the higher up their rank. But my father is not," she said, looking over to where Elrond was sitting elegantly on a thick blanket, in conversation with Erestor and Gandalf, who had donned new grey robes for the celebration. Even his hat had a new band of flowers woven around it.

"You are very kind too, Lady Arwen," Cerena pointed out. Arwen acknowledged the compliment with a tilt of her head. Visht chose that moment to come running up, looking wind-swept and breathless. He paused when he saw the new elf, staring up at her with awe-filled orange eyes. She looked down at him in curiosity.

"Did you come from Aan?" he asked. Arwen smiled, and tilted her head.

"Where is Aan?" she asked. He pointed towards the afternoon sun, squinting a bit. Arwen looked where he was pointing and blinked a bit, before looking back down at him. "Is Aan the sun?" she asked. He nodded dumbly, staring at her. "Are you asking if I came from the sun?" she asked. He nodded again. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you bright and pretty and make Visht feel warm," the boy said. Cerena sighed softly and pinched the bridge of her nose. Arwen merely cooed slightly, leaning forward and taking Visht's face in her hands. She planted a ginger kiss on his forehead and rose, leaving the boy looking pleased and dazed.

"You are a lovely child. I will leave you to your guardian, now. If you should ever need the company of another woman, Cerena, do not hesitate to seek me out," Arwen said, before tilting her head towards them both and walking away. Visht was still smiling dumbly, and looked like he would start floating any second. Cerena shook her head.

"She so pretty," Visht said.

"She's got a boyfriend, and he's going to be a king, silly boy!" Cerena laughed. Visht pouted.

"So? Visht Apzi is King. Visht be King too!" he said. Cerena didn't think much of his proclamation for a few moments, but then her brows furrowed and she looked at him.

"Does Apzi mean father? Your father is a king?" she asked. Visht nodded.

"Visht Apzi is King Durbûrz of Black Crescent Valley," Visht stated proudly. "Visht is Prince of Valley," he added.

Oh shit. This was not some random little boy that she'd found in the woods, whose mother had been killed and whose father would likely not miss him. If Visth was telling the truth, and she had no reason not to believe him….then there was a good chance that Visht's father would want him back.

"Do you have any brothers, Visht?" Cerena asked carefully. Visht shook his head. Oh _shit. _ He was not only a prince…he was _the_ prince…he must be the King's heir…the crown prince of this valley society. She took Visht by the hand suddenly, pulling him to where Elrond was sitting on his blanket. Arwen had sat down beside her father and was leaning against his side, looking relaxed and well-loved as her father idly stroked her hand.

"Lord Elrond, I'm so sorry to interrupt," Cerena said as she came upon the group. Erestor barely refrained from sneering at her. Gandalf looked pleased that she was there looking healthy, and Elrond merely looked up, noting the flustered look on her face.

"What is it, Miss Cerena?" Elrond asked.

"Visht just told me something interesting. Tell them what you told me, Visht," Cerena said. Visht looked confused.

"About eff-lady being pretty?" he asked. Arwen laughed softly. Cerena flushed.

"No, silly boy! About your Apzi, your father," she said, clarifying for the others.

"Visht Apzi is King Durbûrz of Black Crescent Valley," Visht said. Cerena looked at Elrond, who was looking at the boy.

"My Lord…he's the son of a king," she said. "A prince."

"Yes. His mother was killed. Who's to say his father wasn't as well?" Erestor asked. Visht gasped.

"Apzi not dead! Not go with Amzi and Visht! Eff has stupid face!" he snapped. Erestor looked taken aback at the strange insult. Cerena put her hand on Visht's head.

"I am not seeing the reason for your obvious discomfort, Miss Cerena, please forgive me," Elrond said.

"He has no brothers. He is the heir. He's the crowned prince. Don't you think that makes him valuable to his people?" she asked. Elrond's brows knitted together slightly. "My Lord…if Prince Legolas were to go missing, what would King Thranduil do?" she asked. She did not know if Legolas was an only child. It was never mentioned explicitly. But Elrond's eyes widened slightly.

"He would do whatever it took to see his son's safe return, not only for his own peace of mind, but for the good of his kingdom. But this is an orc-king," Elrond said.

"But Visht is not like any orc you've ever seen. You said it yourself," Cerena stated.

"But he's young," Elrond countered.

"But let's say he's not unique. Say there are a group of orcs who are unlike the others you've encountered. Ones that care where their young is, and would want them back. Do you not think they could follow where he was?" Cerena asked. Elrond stood from his sitting position and Arwen leaned away from the support on her father.

"The Valley is impenetrable by orcs, Miss Cerena. I would think one with your foresight would know this," he said, his bright grey eyes boring into hers.

"Just because they can't enter here, Lord Elrond, doesn't mean they don't want him back, and may not send someone to retrieve him. I would hate to see unnecessary blood shed just because a father wants his son back," Cerena said. Elrond took a deep breath.

"If it would ease your mind, I will send messengers to the guards of the borders to look for any…unusual orcs. I will tell them not to attack immediately if they do not appear to be a threat to Imladris or its borders," he said. Cerena looked relieved.

"That's all I wanted, sir," she said. He tilted his head at her, a small smile coming to his face.

"You are a compassionate soul, Cerena," he said. She smiled shyly. Gandalf chose this moment to pop into the conversation.

"Eru was wise in his Will, and the Valar in their execution of it," he said. Cerena shrugged slightly and shuffled her foot against the grass.

"I don't know about all that, now…" she said softly. "But I'll do my best not to disappoint them." She felt warm fingers on her chin, tilting her face up towards the Lord of Rivendell.

"I believe you've already surpassed anyone's expectations," he said kindly. Then she felt a tug on her hand, and looked down at Visht.

"'Reena? We go eat cake now?" he asked politely. She heard the snickers of Gandalf, and the light laughs of Elrond and Arwen. She took his green hand in her own brown hand, before flashing a more confident smile at the small group and turning away.

"Yes, my little pastry-gobbler. We'll go get some cake," she said, leading him to where the desserts were being served. He danced along beside her with the exuberance of a child.

"Yay! Cake!"

And at least for that moment, all was right in Rivendell.

* * *

Ooh la la. We have a time pinned down. Five years and some months before the council. This seems like a long time, but there will be a time skip for necessities sake, or this story would be a million chapters. And as...enjoyable as that would be, I would probably stab myself in the face with a spoon. But it's not for a few chapters, so don't fret my pets.

Visht's bath time. Lol. I have no children of my own, but I have plenty of nieces and nephews, and my little nephews in particular are quite proud of their….danglies. Anyone else have similar stories to Visht popping up when there was company, or proclaiming something super embarrassing?

As always, if you haven't then I would love for you to favorite or follow, but I would absolutely adore a review. They are the apple to my pie…the hot to my chocolate…the pop to my corn. XD

Aan - Sun

Han - Moon

Apzi - daddy (Informal. Like a pet name)

In the last chapter, I didn't translate the words:

Sha! - an exclamation of disgust

Zarza - vegetables

Lol.


	6. It's a Small World

Well everybody, we're gearing up for our first bit of action. Not a bad thing, honestly. :) Next chapter I will have Durbûrz arrive to get Visht. That's not to say he will get all the way into Rivendell. That would be silly. I'm sure they'll meet him.

I've had such great responses from this story. A lot of the things I'll be exploring in this story are not specifically mentioned. Honestly, there's so little actual cannon stuff about orcs anyone who writes a story about them can just make it up from scratch. Hence, the rest of this story. :D

So many questions and guesses. XD I love those, and I hope you continue to conjecture on how this is going to turn out. Hint: EVERYONE DIES. J/K, this isn't Game of Thrones and my heart can't handle that kind of stress. I like _happy_ endings, thank you. So enjoy!

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Chapter 6 – It's a Small World

Baranglas sighed softly, swinging his legs from the branch as he half-heartedly watched the road. Lord Elrond had them rotate out by the fortnight to different posts, with periods of rest in between, but it didn't make most of the posts less dull. The eastern borders, towards the Trollshaws, were always more exciting when trolls and a few of the underground goblins would emerge, but here on the Northern borders there was little action.

Rivendell was a place of refuge for anyone who happened upon it. Many times there were mortals who were traveling through, who happened upon the Valley and were taken in for a bit of rest before they were sent on their way. All races were welcome in Rivendell for rest.

"What's that?"

He looked up when Calen said something quietly. Baranglas squinted a bit. Just over the hill there appeared to be horsemen coming. Hmm…their horses walked funny. They watched as they approached at a leisurely pace, before Baranglas gasped raggedly.

"Those aren't horses! Those are wolves! It's orc-riders!" he hissed. He started to dismount his tree, but Calen's hand tightened almost painfully around his bicep.

"Those mounts are huge. These are not normal orc-riders," Calen said softly, his eyes wide. The wolves they rode were as big as any horse, thick and sinewy with powerful muscles and claws to match. And the orcs…were…they were…strange, as well. They did not stoop in the saddle, nor did they hide their faces from the light of Anor.

"Is this what Lord Elrond sent the messenger for?" Baranglas asked. Just the previous night, a runner had been sent with messages for the borders of Rivendell. If strange orcs approached the borders, they were not to be engaged. Watched closely, but not engaged, so long as it appeared they did not mean the Valley harm. The riders walked at a leisurely pace, their mounts loping along with tireless elegance that was strange and fatally beautiful.

They carried with them a strange banner that flew on the wind. It was a red field, edged in gold, and emblazoned with an upside-down black crescent. It was a standard that Baranglas had never seen.

"We must let Lord Elrond know that they approach, but we should not leave them alone. What if they set fires?" Baranglas asked.

"I will run for the valley. Lord Elrond said _not_ to engage these orcs. I'm not sure what's going on here, but we will find out soon enough, I suppose. Be careful," Calen said, before taking off through the branches with no sound.

It was nearly an hour before the group was close enough for Baranglas to engage them, had he so chosen. As it were, he stayed in his tree, watching them from a distance. As they moved along the road, he followed them in the trees, his feet sure and his eyes sharp.

"We've crossed into elf-country," he heard the leading orc say. The voice was deep and lightly accented, but strangely cultured.

"How can you tell?" one of the others asked. That one's voice was a bit rougher, but not as chilling or scratchy as any other orc's voice he'd ever heard.

"There's an elf following us in the trees," the leader said, looking straight up into the branches at Baranglas. He stopped for a moment, freezing up. The orc's face was smooth save for a single, thin scar crossing over his right eye. His eyes were orange like deep amber, set into a finely shaped green face. His sleek black hair was braided back, and a black circlet rested on his forehead, a pendant of an upside down crescent hanging between his brows. The wolf he was riding looked up, sniffing the air.

"It's only one," the wolf said. It sniffed again. "He's scared."

The wolf talked. The wolf _talked._ The _wolf talked._

"Now, now, little elf. Be not afraid. There is little to fear from us so long as my son has not been harmed," the lead orc said.

Son? Whose son? There had been no orc raids near any of the borders that he had been aware of. Then again, he had been out here nearly his full fortnight. He was scheduled to return to Rivendell in two days.

"It would be polite for you to lead us, elf. I suppose I could just keep following your master's magical border, but I only figured it would be more polite to have an escort," the orc added, looking amused.

"Why do we need an elf's help?" one of them growled. He sat a little lower in the saddle than the rest of them, his face drawn into a grimace. The lead orc held up a hand. The fingers were long and well formed, tipped with shiny black claws.

"Peace, Stargush," he said calmly. This was clearly an orc captain, at the least. "We will not force the elf to give up his hiding place if he does not want to. I am more than capable of finding my own way." Baranglas hesitated for a few moments, before dropping out of the tree and onto the leaves below. The orc captain looked pleased.

"What an honor, elf!" he said, half-teasing. He grinned broadly, stretching his dark lips wide to reveal sharp white fangs.

"What business have you near Rivendell?" Baranglas asked, pitching his voice lower to seem more intimidating. The orc clicked his tongue.

"You can't be more than three-hundred years old, elf! Do not try to intimidate me," he said, and the wolf he rode twitched its ears forward. Baranglas stared at the orcs, cursing his own foolishness for jumping from the trees. Few creatures could catch an elf in the trees, and he had given up the high ground after being baited a little by the strange creatures. His life was surely forfeit now. He could feel his heart starting to hammer against his chest.

"He's not scared. He's terrified," the wolf amended, his long pink tongue coming out to moisten his shiny black nose. The orc rider gave an impatient sigh.

"How annoying," he murmured. He turned in his saddle to the others. "We're obviously scaring the fuck out of him. Break for a moment."

The riders dismounted their huge beasts. Baranglas reacted in an instant, drawing his bow and wielding an arrow. But when he had notched and sighted one of the orcs, he found a black longbow opposite him, nocked and sighted right back. He inhaled sharply. Elbereth, these orcs were fast!

"Put away your bow, elf. You're outnumbered. We do not wish for a fight," the captain started. His hand was resting on the hilt of a long black sword. "My son was taken into your valley two weeks ago and I want him back. Nothing more, nothing less," he added. Baranglas did not move his bow, merely staring down the orc that had him sighted. This one was plain of features with dark greyish skin and pale green eyes. His hair was deeply brown and braided back out of his face.

"There has never been an orc in Rivendell, and there never will be. You are mistaken, you filthy beast!" Baranglas snapped with more bravery than he felt. The orc sighting him pulled its lips back, showing sharp white teeth.

"We are not the same kind of orc that normally passes your border, star-child," the orc-captain said. "I am Durbûrz, King of the Black Crescent Valley. My son, Visht, and his mother, Queen Zira, were traveling among two orc kingdoms, and were attacked by what we call the Lessers, the kind of orc you have fought before. My queen was killed, but the boy was saved by a strange orcess, who was in the company of the Grey Wizard. She was injured so they were both taken into the elf-valley. All I want is my son," Durbûrz explained.

Baranglas did not take his eyes off of the orc bowman.

"I find that hard to believe. I do not trust the word of orcs," he said.

"I can't make you, of course," Durbûrz said. He sounded almost amused. "But I do hope you realize that if you loose that arrow into my advisor, his wolf will rip out your throat before you can touch another of your arrows. It would be a shame to spill blood needlessly. Lower your bow and we will make a resting area, and we will talk together," Durbûrz said calmly. Baranglas stared down the orc advisor, both of them unwilling to yield. The orc had the advantage, though. If Baranglas released his arrow, there were twenty other orcs, plus twenty-one wolves that would make quick work of him. Perhaps if he distracted them, he could escape…

Several long, tense moments passed. He could tell the orcs were on the tips of their toes, ready to react should he kill the one in front of him. He swallowed hard, before he gently loosed the tension in his bow, lowering the arrow away from the orc. The orc immediately lowered his own bow, still loosely nocked, and gave him a hard stare.

"Name's Furtun. You got quick reflexes," the bowman said. Baranglas took a moment to study his bow. It was well made, not one of the ones that most of the orcs carried. Those were haphazardly put together, hastily carved just to have something to fire. This was a masterpiece of dark wood, intricately carved and quite large. It was reminiscent of the great bows of the Galadrim, and those took awesome strength to pull back.

Furtun was also studying the elf. He was dark-haired with bright grey eyes, a fair face and pale skin. He was still on edge, his whole body as tight as his bowstring had been, and ready to flee or fight at a moment's notice.

"Elves like wine, yes? Sit with us, and you and I will have a drink," Durbûrz said. Baranglas sneered.

"I want no orc wine that you would offer," he snarled. Durbûrz was surprised for a moment, before he barked out a laugh.

"Oh! No, elf! We don't have the vineyards to produce our own wine! No, we traded furs for this. It's Dorwinnion wine," he said. Baranglas' eyebrows shot up.

"You drink Dorwinnion wine?" he asked. The orcs looked at each other, smothering grins.

"Well it _is_ the finest wine around, isn't it?" the king asked. Baranglas could not argue. Dorwinnion wine was amongst the finest wine produced in Arda. He narrowed his eyes.

"And you _just so happen_ to have a bottle? It's probably poisoned," Baranglas sniffed. Durbûrz rolled his eyes, before snapping his fingers at the others. They began leading their wolves off to the side of the road, allowing the massive creatures to sit on their paws and rest.

"Poisoning one's guests is juvenile. Only the snaga are so uncouth," he said. "Come, sit with us. You do not have to drink. The others will not. 'Tis the only comfort I keep when I travel, and my men do not begrudge it of me, since I sleep on the same bedroll as them," he said.

"You carry wine when you travel?" Baranglas asked. Sweet merciful Eru…if this wasn't an orc, he'd swear he was in the presence of King Thranduil. That elf was an alcoholic amongst elves, which he hadn't even been sure was possible. Durbûrz grinned widely, his white fangs glinting as he held his hands out to the side.

"It's good to be the King," he said. Baranglas scoffed slightly.

Yup, definitely a lot like Thranduil.

* * *

She huffed slightly as she finished her exercises, testing the tenderness of her shoulder. She seemed to be recovering quickly, with only a bit of tenderness when she stretched too far. She would have never recovered this quickly back home, so she was thinking that perhaps her orc blood was giving her increased healing. She walked to the small basin in her room and splashed cool water on her face to wash off the light sheen of sweat, before patting her face clean and straightening up her hair.

Slowly some of the other elves were lightening up around her. Very slowly. With Arwen's acceptance it seemed to have given the others reason to somewhat trust that she wasn't going to try to murder someone in their sleep. Arwen had taken to having Cerena sit near her at some of the meals, even letting Visht sit on the other side of her, between her and Elrond. Visht seemed absolutely thrilled. He seemed to know that Elrond was an important person in Rivendell, but he also knew that Elrond had been a kind face and a shoulder to cry on – literally – and was worthy of respect. Elrond, for his part, was a kindly fellow, often indulging the childish conversation from Visht.

Cerena had made startling discoveries since her transformation into an orc. _Apparently_ the orc-ladies were much like elves in the fact that they did not have much body hair. Nothing. None on the underarms, forearms, legs…not even _there._ It was…interesting getting used to _that_ feeling. She found that this made her sweat more on her body, because there was no hair to wick away the moisture, but the sweat did not have as strong an odor.

With a sigh she opened the closet door and retrieved a dress for the day. It was a light green color and went well with her brown skin. Her leather slippers were next. She looked at herself in the mirror for a few moments, reaching up and tracing her thick brows. She ran her fingers over the tips of her ears, shuddering at the jolt it sent through her. The stories weren't lying when they said the tips of the ears were sensitive. If someone else touched her ears she'd find it difficult to think…

She closed the door and padded to where Visht still lay sleeping. His hand was curled around a little doll he'd been given. Arwen had made it for him from scraps of cloth. It was in the form of Cerena, with brown cloth for its body and leftover material from her blue dress for a doll version. There were even painted yellow buttons for the eyes and a bit of thread used to sew on a bow-shaped mouth. Visht had loved it because it looked like Cerena, but even more so because Arwen made it for him. He now worshipped the ground she walked on. Cerena just hoped that Aragorn didn't show up, because Visht might be likely to challenge him to a duel for Arwen's honor. And as…hilarious as that would be to watch, she didn't save Visht just so Aragorn 'King-of-Gondor' Elessar could chop him into pieces.

She knelt by him and gently moved the hair off of his face.

"Visht," she said softly. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and inhaled deeply. "Visht," she said a little louder. He hummed slightly, and opened his eyes. He smiled up at Cerena sleepily. "Morning sleepy-head," she laughed. He allowed her to stroke the fine strands of his hair out of his face for a few moments, before he sat up and stretched like a cat, grunting and flexing his claws. She leaned back on her heels as he stood up, his sleeping shirt to his knees, and turned towards the chest of drawers to get his own clothes. Cerena gave him a playful swat on his bottom and he yipped slightly, turning and swiping at her with his hand. She laughed and ducked before standing and walking to the window. It was a pretty day in Rivendell, the sun shining brightly, the wind swaying the branches, Aragorn and two elves sitting under a tree in the courtyard –

Wait, _what_? She gasped lightly as she saw him sitting under one of the trees in the courtyard that her window overlooked. He was in his Ranger's clothing, green and brown, one knee drawn up with his arms around it as he talked to the elves on either side of him. They had been here a while, apparently, because he was clean but ragged. The elves were identical, leading her to believe that it was Elrond's twin sons….who hated orcs.

Oh shit. She hoped Elrond hadn't forgotten to mention her and Visht. It would be just her luck to have survived so much only to get run through in the halls of Rivendell by the future King of Gondor.

"We eat with Arwen now?"

She turned to see Visht struggling with his slippers. He finally got them on and stood, pushing his hair out of his face and grinning.

"Ah…brush your teeth," she said. He rolled his eyes.

Brushing one's teeth in Middle earth wasn't like it was back in her world. Holy fuck, they hadn't introduced a proper brush yet. Even the elves, for all their advancement, used 'chew-sticks' to clean their teeth. She found them all right, but she did miss toothpaste. She wasn't sure of the exact wood that they used for the sticks, but it didn't taste unpleasant. And the upside was that the end could be trimmed for hygiene purposes, and the whole stick replaced after a couple weeks.

Visht was gnawing on his stick more than anything as Cerena began to clean her own teeth. Her fangs felt itchy sometimes, to the point where she had contemplated asking the kitchen for a leftover bone to gnaw on. She wasn't sure if it was just because her teeth were new to her, or if all orcs felt this way, but it was annoying.

When they had finished he dutifully took Cerena's hand as she led him to the Dining Hall. Visht was humming quietly as they walked, and even waved at a few of the slightly friendlier elves. One even waved back shyly.

"They're a lot uglier than I imagined."

She stopped in her tracks at the unfamiliar voice, before turning her head. Two identical elves stood in the adjoining hallway, unreadable expressions on their faces. Visht looked at the strangers and frowned.

"You have face like back end of warg, nar thos!" Visht replied haughtily. Their eyebrows twitched up in tandem, and Cerena knew they could be no one else's sons but Elrond.

"Did you hear that, gwadir? He said you're ugly," the one said. "I have to agree." The other turned to him, giving him a look.

"We're identical, fool," he said. The one squinted a bit, before shaking his head.

"Nah. You're the ugly twin," he said. Then he turned to Cerena. "Father told us about you."

"More like warned you, you mean," she corrected, watching them intently. Their hatred of orc-kind was legendary in Tolkien's world.

"Perceptive," the other said. "You know…we had decided that we were going to torture you," he began without preamble. Cerena felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, her ears prickling and the fingers of her free hand crooking unconsciously into claws.

"Father told us in no uncertain terms to leave you alone," his twin replied. "This we will do for his sake, but we leave you with a warning." The twins approached them, looking down their noses at both of them. Visht bristled at them, pulling his lips back off of his teeth and growling fiercely. He was glaring at one twin while the other leaned in very close to her. He put his hand on her shoulder to keep her from leaning away and put his lips close to her ear.

"I'm watching you, orc. If you so much as breathe out of turn, you filthy, disgusting, putrid whore, I will make sure that your body is in so many pieces that Morgoth himself couldn't figure out what goes where. Do you understand?" he asked, squeezing her shoulder. He had, whether on purpose or accident she didn't know, grabbed her injured shoulder. While it was recovering nicely, this was inciting new pain. She did not answer him, and his grip tightened, making her knees go weak and causing her to gasp. Visht looked up and saw the elf holding Cerena's shoulder.

"Vrasubatlat!" he snarled, his hands crooked into claws. The twins stepped away, with the one letting go of her shoulder and giving her a sharp clap in the same place. She couldn't suppress the ragged gasp. As they walked away backwards, the other twin looked down at Visht, his grey eyes snapping.

"Nar Udautas," he replied. Visht seemed surprised, before he growled again.

"Stupid effs. Not nice like Arwen or Erron," he said. Cerena lifted her hand to her shoulder, her eyes filling with tears. The poor, naïve little fool. He had no idea the irony of that statement.

When she finally was able to gather herself mentally, they continued onto the Dining Hall. She wasn't looking forward to this. The twins were sitting to one side of Elrond and Arwen to the other. But on the other side of Arwen sat Aragorn, still looking ragged and Ranger-ly with a scruffy beard. He was ruggedly handsome and vaguely resembled Viggo Mortenson, but honestly this man looked more…manly. Not that Viggo had looked _un_manly, after all…but there was just something more dangerous and regal about this Aragorn.

"Who with Arwen?" Visht asked, looking disappointed.

"That's Aragorn. I told you about him," Cerena said. Visht pouted.

"Oh. The King," he said, sticking out his dark tongue. That was another thing she'd discovered about orcs. The insides of their mouths were dark. She supposed that, scientifically, it would be due to their black blood. Humans and elves had red blood, so their organs and tissues had healthy hues of pink and red. Orcs had black blood, so their tissue and organs would be dark. She imagined now she had a black heart. Awesome…

Arwen did catch sight of them entering, and waved them towards the dais. Cerena inhaled deeply and walked towards them. Aragorn turned to them, his grey eyes taking the two of them in sharply. He was the perfect picture of a reclining predator. Just because he hadn't put the butter knife in her kidney yet didn't mean he wasn't capable of it. He knew it, and she knew it, and as his eyes sparkled slightly she realized that _he _knew that _she_ knew.

"Cerena! I would like you to meet someone," Arwen said. Cerena bowed slightly towards Aragorn.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lord Aragorn," she said. Arwen seemed surprised for a moment, and even Aragorn looked surprised, before Arwen laughed lightly.

"I told you father said she was a Seer!" she said. Aragorn stood from his seat and inclined his head.

"You look very different from all of the other orcs I've killed," he said without preamble. Arwen gasped and Cerena's eyes widened. Aragorn seemed to realize what he'd said, and flushed slightly.

"By Morgoth's frilly pink panties! Let's just get that out in the open, shall we?" she exclaimed. Aragorn choked at her exclamation. Visht perked up a bit.

"Does Morgoff wear pink panties? Seems like something a eff would wear," he commented. Aragorn looked at Visht.

"Is that…your son?" he asked. Cerena looked at him funny.

"Visht is green. I'm brown. Nature doesn't work like that," she said. There was awkward, awkward silence for several moments. Then Visht's stomach gave a spectacular grumble.

"Effs talk too much. Eat now, kill each other later. How we work in the caves," he said, nodding to himself. Cerena pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, the wisdom of children,"

She looked up to see Elrond staring at them intensely, his eyes darting between her and Visht to Aragorn, who looked uncomfortable now. Visht skittered around the table and took his place between Arwen and Elrond, much to the surprise of Aragorn. Cerena sat on the other side of Aragorn, sitting stiffly in her seat.

"I don't think this could get anymore awkward if Sauron himself showed up with pie for dessert," Cerena grumbled. Aragorn gave a shocked laugh, looking at her as she clicked her black claws together.

"Somehow I think it would be infinitely _more_ awkward," he said. Cerena gave a shy smile and looked up at him.

"Yea…I don't suppose they have very good pie in Mordor…" she said. He smiled. He had a very handsome smile. She could tell that he was still a little on edge, but he did not seem to want to murder her with his butter knife anymore…so there was that…

Breakfast might have even been a pleasant affair if Glorfindel hadn't been the next to sit at the head table, right beside her. She had reached for a pastry and he slapped her hand, pointing silently at the fruit.

"Breakfast Nazi," she grumbled, nibbling on the fruit. Her teeth were starting to ache, now, and she was contemplating how long she could gnaw on Glorfindel's arm before he stabbed her in the head when a messenger came into the Dining Hall. She'd seen their messengers before, coming in and out all the time. They were identifiable by the brown bag they wore at their side. She supposed it was obvious how those bags got the term 'messenger bag.' The messenger went to Elrond, leaning close. His head turned towards Visht at one point, before he nodded and sent the messenger away.

"Visht, lad, what is the standard your father flies?" Elrond asked conversationally. Visht looked up blankly from his eggs. "The…symbol of your father's kingdom?" Elrond tried again. Visht blinked.

"The picture on your Apzi's flag, Visht," Cerena said. Visht nodded in comprehension.

"It's a frowning han!" he said with a giggle. He noticed Elrond looking at him blankly. "Upside down crescent," he amended. Elrond nodded.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked. Cerena could not see it, but the twins had been paying very close attention to the conversation. Elrond looked at Cerena.

"There is a group of twenty one orcs on large wolves riding into the Northern borders of Rivendell. They fly a red standard with an inverted black crescent," Elrond said. Visht looked excited.

"They fly the flag? That mean Apzi's with them! Apzi come to get Visht!" he said excitedly. He looked up at Elrond, his orange eyes sparkling. "You come to meet Apzi? He be happy you take care of Visht! I say I like you and he will like you too!" he said, leaning into the elf-lord's side. Elrond seemed surprised for a moment, before he placed a hand on Visht's head.

"We will see how everything goes after breakfast," Elrond said, and Visht tucked back into his plate with fervor. Cerena felt a heavy ball of nervousness settle in her stomach.

"Yea…eat first, kill each other later."

* * *

Yay! Murder kill time!

Translations:

Nar thos – no sack.

Vrasubatlat – I will kill you

Nar Udautas – Not today

Gwadir – Elvish for 'Brother'

We got the twins, and Aragorn. He's not there for long, because he has to go back doing Ranger-ly shit soon. But I imagine he would have stopped in from time to time…you know…if he was in the neighborhood. DON'T JUDGE ME.

Well anyway, you read the story. If you haven't, I would love if you would favorite or follow, but I would REALLY love it if you reviewed. They are my Sauron Pie. (Hmm…that sounded a lot less kinky in my head) And my frilly pink Morgoth panties. Also, you're welcome for that imagery. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Review?


	7. Never Smile at a Crocodile

Well, guys. This took a lot longer than I expected. But it's here, it's nice and lengthy, and I hope you enjoy the work I put into it. I have been very overwhelmed by the support of this story, and I hope it doesn't stop any time soon. I've got many grand plans for this story, and it all continues with the continuing support. Your reviews inspire me.

I've said before, and I'll reiterate, that I'm not one of those authors who will hold a story for ransom if I don't get reviews. It's childish, and I'm pretty sure it's against the rules now, anyway, so that's irrelevant. I will say that I love reviews. They do inspire me. They make me want to write faster, but they do not make or break me. :3

* * *

Chapter 7 – Never Smile at a Crocodile

Baranglas watched as the orcs interacted with each other. They were lounging around with their massive mounts, some even grooming the large beasts. One such groomer was carefully brushing dirt and grass out of his wolf's fur while the creature enjoyed a sunbeam through the trees. Its face was tilted up and its mouth open as the long pink tongue lolled lazily. The rider used a wooden palm brush with short bristles to brush down the fur on the face, before moving and gently detangling a few stray bits of leaves and things on the bottlebrush tail.

The King was reclining against his wolf. A smaller white wolf sat in his lap, watching Baranglas and wagging its tail. The orc-king was absent-mindedly stroking the little wolf with one hand, and playing with the other wolf's crested neck. The large, black-furred wolf seemed quite content with this, even going so far as to stretch its head forward and give the little wolf a lick with its broad tongue. It almost knocked the smaller creature from the king's lap, and succeeded in making the white fur stand on end.

"Oh, Fleepaw, you naughty bastard…now River looks like someone shoved his snout in a tornado," Durbûrz laughed.

"Shall we entertain the elven guest with a song?" one guard asked with a wicked grin. Baranglas did not get a sour feeling from him, but a feeling like they were teasing him. He didn't like being teased by orcs, and so frowned at the guard that had spoken.

"And risk frightening the poor fucker off because you sing like someone beating a goat? No thanks, Hirtz," another barked, and several of the group laughed loudly.

"Go yank yourself, Yatta, you great git!" Hirtz growled playfully, chucking a rock in the direction of the other guard. There was a thud and a yelp.

"Oi, you shit-for-brains! Stop aiming your rocks like you aim your dick! You hit anything but the required target!" a different voice called.

Baranglas was rather lost. What he was witnessing was nothing he'd ever seen…among orcs, anyway. This was camaraderie, plain and simple. He had seen orcs argue amongst themselves, murdering their own soldiers over petty squabbles. He'd witnessed an orc murder another over the outcome of a game of bones.

"What are you thinking, elf?"

The voice made him jump. He had not seen the King move, and was surprised to find him standing next to him. These orcs were also not the heavy-footed cretins that stomped around the borders of Imladris, either. He stared into the slitted orange eyes of the orc-king, his own eyes wide as he stepped back from the creature.

"I do not know what to think. You are unlike any orc I've ever come across. I cannot seem to grasp what is going on," Baranglas said honestly.

"Well, I'd be more than willing to give you a history lesson, but I'd only like to do it once. When my son is safely returned, then I will tell you the story of the High Orcs," Durbûrz said.

"High Orcs?" Baranglas said, his curiosity getting the better of his fear. It would make sense. These orcs seemed more mobile, more educated, and highly advanced sociologically. He was startled again when the sound of a flute began to play, and turned his head to see one of them piping away at a wooden flute. Its sound was far deeper than what most of the elves preferred, the body of it slightly longer and wider to produce such a sound, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

"Yes, little elf. High Orcs. When the time is right, I will tell you a story that will turn your pretty little head right around," the King said, clapping Baranglas on the shoulder. He yipped slightly under the unexpected contact, but it was not painful.

He really needed to pull himself together, or he was _never_ going to get border duty again!

* * *

"So what do you propose to do?"

Elrond was sitting at his desk, and a small group of people stood in front of him. Cerena, holding Visht's hand, stood quietly to the side as the others discussed. His sons were there, arguing vehemently against a meeting of any kind with orcs. Mithrandir was arguing against them, saying that it would be courteous to at least return the boy to his father in person, and to see what kind of orcs had produced such a lively and well-formed child.

"Orcs, Ada! Orcs! They probably planted the boy as a decoy, and seek to lure you into the open! Think of Arwen…she would be devastated should anything happen to you. She would surely fade with grief!" One said.

"That's a fine thing to use against your father!" Gandalf barked. "You two are the surliest firstborn I've ever met! You're so used to getting your own way that you try to bully others, even your own family!"

"Adar is far too trusting! He doesn't need to put himself in unnecessary danger-,"

"Enough!" Elrond finally roared. Visht actually jumped slightly, before burying his face into Cerena's skirts. He knew they were arguing over him, and he didn't like the two elves that were alike. The wizard didn't bother him, and was actually quite kind, but he had never seen the kind-faced Elrond so upset.

"I am not an elfling for you two to protect! I wielded a sword longer than both of you have been alive. Just because I do not carry it now does not mean I cannot defend myself! Don't you _dare_ bring your sister into this! She is not an emotional bartering chip for you to use at your leisure. I _will_ take the boy to his father. They _will not_ be allowed within the city, so a meeting place will be secured. I will take several archers in the trees, and a few soldiers on the ground for protection, should anything go wrong. This conversation is finished. If you wish to accompany me, then you need to change your attitude right now," Elrond said harshly. The twins actually looked rather surprised and chagrined, both looking at the floor and frowning. "Now get out of my office. I wish to discuss this with Miss Cerena and Mithrandir."

The twins gave Cerena and Visht a glare on their way out, both shuffling petulantly to the door. The last one out closed it with more force than necessary, causing several precariously set books to topple over on their shelves.

"Now, Mithrandir….what is your counsel on this?" Elrond asked tiredly.

"I say we arrange a meeting place and take the boy to his father. I admit high intrigue to what kind of orcs we may be dealing with. And Cerena should come, of course, being the one who rescued the lad and has taken care of him," he said, turning to the only quiet one in the room. She looked up then, her yellow eyes swimming with tears. Gandalf reached forward, touching her cheek with his fingertips. "What's wrong?"

"I've…I've caused so much trouble!" she hiccupped. Visht pulled back from her skirts, looking up helplessly as his protector started to crumble. The tension was visible in her face as she tried to swallow her tears. It had taken her far longer than Visht, but everything was starting to catch up to her now. She was in a strange world, with strange people, in a strange body, and the only people that looked vaguely familiar to her were high enemies with the race that she'd been turned into.

She had no idea what the Valar were thinking when they called her to this world. What could she do? She was only one person! She was a soft-bellied American who had never wanted for anything! She'd been spoiled with her air conditioning, and toothbrushes, and indoor plumbing, and preprocessed food. She had been living in a dream the past two weeks, and she was just now starting to grasp the situation she was in. Just like Eru and the Valar were real, so was Sauron. Sauron, and the foul soldiers of Mordor were as much a reality as Elrond and Gandalf.

"I can't…I can't do this, Gandalf. I'm not strong enough," she said. She was backing away from them as she spoke, trembling violently. Gandalf watched her with his intense blue eyes. She could almost see the magic in his gaze, and it made everything seem so real and frightening.

"Cerena," Elrond said softly. She looked towards him. He had a soft expression on his face, rather like pity and understanding. She tried to gulp back her tears again, heaving a great breath, but she could not stop the fiercely terrified and angry emotion that poured from her. Tears began to stream down her face as her shoulders hitched.

"'Reena…" Visht whispered. He reached out and touched her hand, but she pulled back from his touch. She turned and fled, wrenching open the door and fleeing the room as fast as her leather slippers would carry her. Neither Gandalf nor Elrond made a move to stop her, but Visht turned to them desperately. "'Reena run away! Gotsa stop her!" he cried. He looked up as Elrond finally stood from his desk, walking around to where he was watching the door and hoping Cerena would come back at any moment. A high whine escaped his throat as Elrond's gentle hand was on his head, stroking his hair. "Why 'Reena leave Visht too? Visht do bad? Visht sorry!" And then he began to cry as well, not understanding Cerena's emotional outburst and thinking it his fault.

He clung to the elf-lord as he was scooped up into the strong, gentle arms again. He buried his face into the familiar shoulder and sobbed helplessly.

"We cannot force her," Elrond said. "She's young and afraid. She has showed much promise and much wisdom, but we have forgotten that she is but a woman, lost from her own world and living in what she thought was only a story," the elf said to Gandalf. Gandalf nodded silently.

"She has to come to terms with her destiny at some point," he commented. Elrond nodded silently, his eyes on the door hoping, like Visht, that she would reappear. She did not.

"There seems to be many that come to Imladris to face their destiny," Elrond commented wryly. Gandalf returned the wry expression.

"It's only because there is such good counsel to be had."

* * *

She ran. She ran past elves through the hallway, her vision blurred with tears and barely able to see what was going on around her. She ran until she left the physical house of Elrond, running into one of the many vast gardens that surrounded the place. It was a simple maze of hedges and she soon found herself in the center. Several benches dotted the center of the maze, so she staggered to one and sat down roughly, burying her face into her hands and sobbing loudly.

She was frightened. What _exactly_ were they expecting here to do? Gandalf supposed that she was supposed to bring about some great revolution of the orcs, but she could barely look any of the elves in the face long enough for them to tell her to die. She didn't like being around people. She had always been by herself and had liked it that way! When her parents were alive she stuck to herself with her music and books. When her parents had died and she lived with her grandparents, they often commented that they forgot she was home, because she was so quiet, unless she was at the piano or watching television.

Her body was not made for the exertion that Glorfindel was putting her through. She had never thought herself fat, but apparently she was a lazy little piglet with little hope of ever wielding a sword. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her. He passed very harsh judgment without saying a word. She was an orc, black-blooded and sharp of tooth with no one in this world that wouldn't rather kill her first and never ask questions.

She wanted to go home.

"Cerena?"

She looked up at the sound of the voice to see Arwen and Aragorn standing there. Her mortification was complete, and a fresh wave of tears overtook her. Arwen moved forward, sitting on the bench with Cerena and folding her into her arms. Cerena was resistant at first, trying to pull away and not bother the elf-lady, but Arwen was stronger than she looked.

"What is the matter, little friend?" Arwen asked gently. Cerena was shaking her head, crying inarticulately. Aragorn stood back, watching awkwardly. A great King of Men he may someday be, but he was still a man, and crying women escaped his area of expertise. Arwen merely held onto Cerena as she cried, and eventually Cerena was able to pull back, hiccupping only slightly with tears. Arwen continued to stroke Cerena's shoulders in a comforting fashion. "Why do you weep so?"

"I can't…I can't do wh-what they ask o-of me!" Cerena stuttered. Arwen merely tilted her head in curiosity, but Aragorn went on high-alert. Had the girl been asked by an orc superior to do something terrible? His mind worked quickly supplying worst-case scenarios. He normally didn't carry his sword in Rivendell, but he always had a dagger at his side. He just hoped he didn't have to use it.

"Who is asking what of you?" Arwen asked patiently. Cerena rubbed at her eyes a few times, sniffling miserably.

"To tell you that…I w-would have to t-tell you a secret," Cerena replied.

"If you can't, I understand," Arwen said gently, reaching out and smoothing down one of Cerena's curls that had sprung out of place.

"I…I trust you…both of you," Cerena said shakily. "But you cannot tell anyone else…not your brothers, or Glorfindel….Lord Elrond and Gandalf already know…" she said, her sentences staggering around wildly.

"We shall not tell another soul," Arwen vowed, looking at Aragorn. He thought it was a hasty promise to make before knowing what was going on, but his protective instincts were roaring to the fore, and he needed to know what this little orc-girl was up to.

"I give my word I shall not tell anyone," Aragorn finally said. And so Cerena launched into her origins, telling them about her world, and how Gandalf had appeared to her, and brought her back, and of her transformation.

"They want me to be some grand revolution among the orcs, and I can't even do morning stretches without breaking a sweat!" Cerena finally gasped, her eyes watering again. She was offended and hurt when Aragorn laughed. Arwen looked up sharply, and he quickly smothered his mirth.

"Oh, child! What a story you've woven for us. If Gandalf is involved it must be true…an orc changed by the Valar…sent to be an aid of the Free Peoples. I did not mean to laugh and sound as though I do not sympathize with you. But you must understand….you are but a beginner! And a woman at that!" Aragorn said, smiling indulgently. He was either oblivious to, or didn't see the change in Arwen's face.

"And what does being of the fairer sex have to do with anything?" Arwen asked lightly. Aragorn seemed to realize that he'd stepped on unsteady ground, and so he back-peddled quite spectacularly.

"It only means," he said quickly, "that she just needs a bit more strength training. Why, even Glorfindel himself didn't wake up one morning as an expert with the sword," Aragorn said reasonably. Arwen's eyes narrowed slightly at him, but then she turned back to Cerena. Aragorn relaxed visibly.

"It's not just the sword! Who am I? Who am I to do such things that they think me capable of?" she asked.

"Your fate is heavy," Aragorn said softly, his voice full of understanding and experience. "It weighs upon you, and you feel unworthy. Why should you be given such a difficult road, fraught with pain and suffering and toil?" She looked up.

"Exactly! How do I-," but then she cut herself off immediately, her eyes widening slightly. She suddenly felt ashamed. Aragorn faced a much more difficult road than she. His entire life had been hard. The life of a Ranger was lonely and thankless. "I'm a fool. Your burden is much heavier than mine. I must sound whiny and stupid," she babbled. But Aragorn merely smiled serenely at her, his scruffy beard making him look rather fatherly.

"Burdens are burdens no matter what the weight. I do not think you foolish for being overwhelmed. And besides…do you have to bear your burden alone? Surely it cannot be one person who revolutionizes an entire race. Revolutions can be started by one person, but they cannot be finished by one," Aragorn said reasonably.

All three were silent for several moments. Cerena reveled in the soothing motion of Arwen rubbing her back, and Aragorn merely stood by, watching as calm seeped into the brown-skinned orc. Finally Cerena looked up at them again.

"Thank you for listening. I just…I needed that release…" she said, now feeling quite shy. Arwen smiled warmly and leaned forward, pressing a friendly kiss to Cerena's brow.

That was another thing Cerena had noticed about the people of Rivendell. Perhaps it was only the Elves…but everyone seemed so much more comfortable with touch. In her world, it was almost unacceptable to touch another person, but here people touched often. They touched hands, or placed a comforting hand on a shoulder, or a friendly tap. She'd even seen the male elves hug in greeting, and there was no indication that they were effeminate in any way. It was taking a little getting used to for her to be comfortable with that kind of innocent physicality.

"You are a guest of my father and a good soul. I'm glad to help you," Arwen said brightly. Cerena nibbled at her lip slightly, one white fang poking out as she thought.

"Speaking of your father….I suppose I better go and apologize for running away," she said. Arwen stood as well, adjusting her skirts slightly and then clapping her hands.

"I shall walk with you, little friend," she said. She turned to Aragorn, and he gave her a warm smile.

"My heart will weep until we see each other again," he said softly. Cerena watched them make goo-goo eyes at each other for several moments, before discreetly coughing into her hand. It snapped them both to attention, and they both flushed slightly. Cerena merely shook her head.

* * *

Calen was sent back out as a messenger to the orcs that had passed into the borders of Rivendell. He was to lead them to a specific clearing that they would meet them at later in the afternoon. Elrond had been quite serene and back to his unruffled self when Cerena had returned. Gandalf, knowing she would return eventually, had gone off to have a nice smoke of his pipe. Visht had been sitting in one of Elrond's chairs, his face buried into his knees when she and Arwen had returned.

Visht had launched himself at her, sobbing apologies and generally making her feel like an ass for running away. It had taken much gentle coaxing to make him believe that he had not been at fault for her running away. He couldn't believe that his grand savior had been frightened. But once she had convinced him she had been afraid, he allowed her to kiss away his tears and tell him the good news about going to see his Apzi. His mood had improved vastly after that.

The day passed much too quickly for Cerena, and she soon found herself with a small group heading out into the woods of Rivendell. Elrond and Gandalf were leading the group, and Aragorn had been invited to go along. Glorfindel would not let his Lord and friend go off without him, and old Bilbo Baggins had managed to convince Gandalf to let him ride with the wizard. Seeing as it was supposed to be a peaceful drop off, there was little argument that could be proposed to the stalwart hobbit.

Finding a mount to bear Cerena and Visht had been a lot more difficult. The only horses that were suitable for a beginner to even think about riding all screamed and tried to bolt when they smelled the two orcs, and the ones who were not afraid of her wanted nothing more than to make her paste beneath their hooves, snorting and baying like the war horses they were.

"What about Blanket?" Glorfindel finally suggested. Elrond turned to the blond warrior, his eyebrows high.

"Blanket? He's much too soft to accept her as a rider," Elrond said. "He'd bolt."

"No…Blanket is too dumb to realize that he's carrying anything. The poor thing is completely stupid," Glorfindel countered.

Cerena soon found herself looking at quite possibly the mellowest horse she'd ever seen. It was so mellow, in fact, that she was sure it was half asleep. If horses could be stoners, she was fairly certain that this one had gotten into some special mushrooms and was tripping all sorts of ways. It was mostly brown, with white socks and a white snout. She reached out tentatively and touched the velvety muzzle of the horse, and Blanket merely licked her hand with a long tongue.

"Why's he called Blanket?" Cerena asked.

"Because he's got about as much sense as a wet blanket," Glorfindel said. Cerena frowned, and looked into the horse's liquid brown eyes.

"You're okay with me, Blanket," she said. Blanket put his snout against the side of her head, and she gave a high-pitched, surprised giggle when the soft nose brushed her ear. Blanket grunted. Elrond picked Visht up and put him in the saddle, before helping Cerena get onto the horse. They adjusted Blanket's stirrups for her, and she made sure she and Visht were both comfortably sat. She was given a quick course on horse commands, before the group began to move out.

Visht was bouncing excitedly at first, but Elrond had said that the clearing they were going to was several hours away by horse. After a little while, Visht began to droop tiredly, until he finally fell asleep completely in front of Cerena. She put one arm around him, keeping one hand on the reins (even though it was only a formality. Blanket would follow any horse he was behind with little question, and barely needed any leading.) Cerena found herself bobbing sleepily from the gentle rhythm and peaceful area.

She was glad that the twins had not come with them. Or, if they had, they were in the group that was following through the trees. They were out of sight, and out of mind, in Cerena's opinion.

She suddenly felt a touch on her arm, and jumped awake. She looked over to see Gandalf beside her, his horse pulling at the reigns from being in such proximity to her.

"We're almost there. Only a few more minutes," he said. She nodded her thanks and sat up, stretching as best she could without pulling the reins too tightly or losing her grip on Visht. She gently shook him awake, grinning as he yawned widely. His head tilted backwards and he opened his eyes.

"You upside-down, 'Reena," he commented with a sleepy smile.

"We're almost there, Visht. You're almost to your Apzi," she said kindly.

Suddenly she was sad. She'd come to care very much for Visht over the past couple weeks. Now he was going home, and she realized that she would miss him. She hoped his father was a good ma- er…orc. She hoped that Visht would be taken care of. She hoped he grew into a good, kind person…

"I missed Apzi," Visht said softly. "'Reena good to Visht. Thanks, 'Reena," Visht said.

"You're welcome, Visht," Cerena said.

"I love you, 'Reena," Visht said suddenly. Cerena's mouth opened to reply, but she could think of no response. She looked up when she heard Glorfindel inhale sharply.

In the clearing were twenty one figures and twenty one wolves. They were in a loose semi-circle, with one wolf and rider in the center. Most of them had dismounted and were waiting around as their mounts sat on their haunches.

They were tall and broad like Men, but that was where the similarities ended. Many of them had the greenish skin tone like Visht, including the center rider. A couple of them had grey skin. One had light grey skin, and another's skin was a much darker grey. Cerena took a deep breath when she saw that one of the riders had deep brown skin, very much like hers. She could have wept to see that she wasn't a freak even amongst orc-kind. She could see their eyes as they watched the approaching group. Their eyes were slitted, and jewel-bright in odd colors. She saw crimson eyes, and yellow eyes, and pale, feline green eyes. The brown-skinned orc even had amethyst colored eyes.

The center orc could be no one else but Visht's father. The same greenish skin, the sleek black hair, and bright orange eyes. They had the same brow shape, though their mouths were set a bit differently. Visht's father, the king, wore a black circlet with a pendant of an upside down moon hanging on his brow.

Visht bounced wildly on the saddle.

"Apzi! Apzi!" he called loudly, waving excitedly. A grin split the King's face, relief evident in the stern expression, and he threw up his hand to wave back at his son. There was a high-pitched bark and a little white dog- no, a wolf! - appeared between the large, upright ears of the king's wolf. The white wolf barked madly at the sound of his master's voice. "River!" Visht squealed.

Cerena found herself grinning at his exuberance. But Visht's countenance changed quite suddenly, and he stiffened quite solidly.

"Visht?" Cerena asked. Visht was looking at the orc standing directly next to the king, a green-skinned orc with pale green eyes. "Visht, who is that?" Cerena asked.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The advisor's bow was suddenly in his hand, nocked and fired before she could hardly take a breath. She instinctively tried to push her and Visht to the side, which is probably the only thing that saved his life. As it were the long arrow struck him solidly in the shoulder, right at his collar bone, and the force of it knocked them both off of the back of blanket, who had lowered his head to nibble at a sprig of spring greenery poking through the leaves. The horse lifted its head when its riders were suddenly gone, looking around curiously before going back to its unexpected snack.

Furtun's bow was nocked again before Durbûrz could turn, and there was suddenly the point of an arrow jabbing him firmly in the side of his neck. Hot fury and cold terror gripped him simultaneously as his son was knocked back by the force of his advisor's arrow. The sudden piercing scream was almost a relief, because it meant his son was still alive. Several elves dropped from the trees, their bows nocked towards the orcs, and his guards were recovering from sudden shock and going for their weapons.

"Nobody fucking move," Furtun called loudly.

"You fucking _traitor_," Durbûrz snarled, and the arrowhead was poked into his flesh hard, drawing a dark prick of blood.

"You shut up, you arrogant _fuck,_" Furtun growled back. Fleepaw had turned towards them, and was stiff and ready to pounce, his muscles bunching and a deep growl resonating in his throat.

"You have three choices, Furtun," Durbûrz said coldly. "You can go ahead and kill me now, or you can challenge me officially like I know you're wanting to do, or you can hang for treason. You'd better fucking pick quickly."

Furtun merely smiled coldly.

"No, we're going to do this my way. Boys!" he called. Ten guards moved as one, grabbing the other guards and putting their drawn sword to their throats.

"Well, well, well," Durbûrz growled. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. I knew it had to be a fucking inside job that handed off the information as to the whereabouts of my queen, and exactly who was guarding her. You're a piece of work, you sack-less bitch!"

On the other side of the clearing, Cerena was holding Visht as he cried in agony. Elrond was off of his horse, approaching the two with a worried expression on his face. Aragorn and Glorfindel moved in front of him, blocking him and the two he approached from sight.

"What just happened?" Aragorn said, his eyes dark as he watched the others being held. Glorfindel's eyes were darting among the faces of the orc-soldiers.

"I think we've just witnessed High Treason amongst the orcs."

* * *

Holy shit! That was nearly five thousand words in MSWord. That's totally bananas!

Also treason. Lots of traitory goodness to go around! Everyone enjoy the nice warm taste of betrayal in the afternoon. :| So there's that.

Tell me what you think. If you haven't, please favorite or follow the story, and as always I hope that you leave a review! :D


	8. A Whale of a Tale

Well…I knew this would happen eventually. I was _supposed_ to update Dragon's Destiny next, but this story just punched me in the tit and said 'No, fucker, you're going to write me next,' So I complied. *Sigh*

This chapter has death in it, and also execution in the form of hanging. It's pretty obvious where they are, so if that's not your forte, then you can skip over it, but honestly I tried to handle it tastefully and it shouldn't be too difficult to stomach. *Shrug*

So, Dragon's Destiny is most definitely the next one now. I hope you enjoy _five and a half thousand words._

* * *

Chapter 8 – It's a Small World

"I'm going to kill you, Furtun," Durbûrz growled, his lips pulled back off of his teeth as he showed his fangs. Furtun merely smirked.

"Your guards are incapacitated. You are at the point of my arrow. The only one dying today is you, Durbûrz," the other orc stated. Durbûrz's teeth parted slightly as his fangs began to ache for blood. The arrow tip pressed into his neck, and it had broken the skin, but Durbûrz had never been one to let a little flesh wound hold him back.

"No. Your mistake was not killing me immediately. I will break every one of your fingers, Furtun, and then I will hang you as a traitor. Then I will hang every one of your cohorts. But before that happens, I only want to know one thing. I want to know why you betrayed me and the entire valley," Durbûrz ground out.

"You think you're so clever, don't you? You're nothing but an over inflated ego playing at kingship. Your father stole the crown!" Furtun snapped. Durbûrz's orange eyes went wide with understanding.

"You've been talking to Tazir!" he said quietly. Then his expression hardened again. "And what did that fat fucker promise you, eh? Did he say he'd make you a great Lord among Orcs? Did he promise you your pick of orcess'? Wait! Let me guess! He promised you'd be an equal to him?" Durbûrz asked scornfully.

"You _never_ appreciated anything I did for you! At least Tazir appreciated my talents!" Furtun said angrily.

"You're an idiot. A brainwashed, greedy idiot. And you've now taken ten of my best soldiers with you. I don't know what you and Tazir promised them, but you've got them killed. I am lenient to a fault, Furtun, but this is high treason, and I _will not_ let it go!" Durbûrz growled. The arrow was jabbed into his neck again, cutting deeper into the flesh. Durbûrz merely ran his tongue over his dark lips, looking over at where the elves now stood. "And do you _honestly_ think you'll get away? The moment blood is spilled those elves are going to start shooting indiscriminately. What is a few dead orcs to them? You've gotten yourself fucked, Furtun. There is no way out of this alive. It. Is. Finished."

Across the way, the elven archers stood with their arrows trained on the orcs. But they held their fire on Glorfindel's signal.

"I admit high curiosity as to how this plays out. I don't know who to cheer for. On one hand, treason is a horrible crime and should be punished. On the other hand….it's orcs. If they kill themselves, then who am I to interfere?" he said quietly.

"The one at arrow point is clearly the leader, betrayed by the one trying to kill him. The others are with the traitor, which means the ones being held are faithful to the king. I admit my own curiosity," Aragorn said, his clear grey eyes darting over the faces of the orcs that were being held and the ones doing the holding. Then his head turned to look behind him briefly as Elrond tended to the orcling. The lad's tunic had been cut away, and the arrow removed. Now Lord Elrond was trying to stop the bleeding, while making sure that the arrow had not cracked any bones. There must have been something on the arrow, because the wound appeared swollen, and the flesh around it as well, even going up his neck and making the side of his face swell. His head was to the side, his black tongue lolling as he gasped for breath. Cerena was trying to hold his head steady to keep his airway as open as possible, but there was little she could do for him.

Gandalf had handed off Bilbo to one of the elves as soon as the other orcs had moved, and the Hobbit was probably a third of the way back to Rivendell by now. The wizard had then turned back towards the fray, his blue eyes watching intently.

Aragorn turned away. His gaze was back on the orcs before him as the king spoke again.

"My father challenged Tazine for the crown under the laws of our people, and he won fairly. When I came of age, I faced all challengers for the crown and I won fairly. I beat Tazir because he was nothing but talk! So he took some of his friends who were loyal to him and he founded the colony in the Grey Woods. Tazir is a coward with a silver tongue!" Durbûrz was angry.

A little white blur suddenly shot off of the back of Fleepaw, who had been waiting for an opportunity to attack. River landed on Furtun's shoulder, sinking his teeth into his ear and tugging sharply. Furtun jerked mightily in pain and released his arrow. Durbûrz had begun moving as soon as River hit Furtun, and so the arrow only scraped him when it flew stray, but it gouged deeply into the meat of his cheek. Durbûrz did not feel the pain as he turned.

Furtun grabbed River with the hand that had drawn his bow and jerked the small wolf off of him, drawing back and throwing the miniature wolf as hard as he could before he was tackled about the middle by the King. The faithful guards used this sudden commotion to begin their own struggle. One was unable to free himself before his throat was slit, but several got free, turning to fight with their brethren.

Baranglas would never be able to answer what drove his feet forward, but his toes dug into the ground as he suddenly shot forward, making a dive and extending his hands just as the little white wolf fell into his arms. Its white snout was smudged a bit with black blood from biting Furtun, but when the thing recovered from its disorienting toss, it gave Baranglas a nice wet lick over his lips. Baranglas gagged.

The elves watched the mayhem in front of them warily. Lord Elrond had been willing to meet with the orc-king to return his son and speak with him, but if the traitorous orcs won, then none of them would leave the woods. One already lay dead or dying, and nobody was actively taking prisoners.

Durbûrz grappled with Furtun among the leaves. Furtun was strong and lithe, but he had the disadvantage of being trained by the king himself, and so the king knew almost every weakness he had. Furtun lifted his head and spat in Durbûrz's eye. Durbûrz drew back, trying to blink away the spittle, and Furtun raked his claws over the other side of his face, digging as deeply as he could. The king pulled back and roared as Furtun struggled to his feet. He had abandoned his bow and drew his sword. Durbûrz drew his own blade as he stood, and they faced each other off for several moments. Furtun made the first move, shooting forward and trying to hack at Durbûrz's shoulder.

The king blocked the blow and countered, immediately pushing Furtun into a retreat. Their blades flashed and sparked as they came together, before Furtun got in a lucky hit and caught the king's blade just right to knock it aside. Then he lifted his and brought it down. Durbûrz ducked the blade and used Furtun's momentum to grab his arm and twist it mightily, knocking the sword from his advisor's hand and twisting his arm behind his back. Then Durbûrz grabbed Furtun's hand, squeezing until the bone creaked beneath his grip. Furtun's mouth hung agape in silent agony as the King literally crushed his hand. There were cracking sounds as several of the bones broke, and Furtun finally screamed.

Durbûrz leaned forward, nearly pressing his broad, flat nose against Furtun's large ear.

"I made you. I trained you myself, and I made you my advisor because I trusted your judgment and valued your opinion. You betrayed me and your people, and got my queen killed. Zira was fond of you, and Visht worshipped you as an uncle. But you threw it all away. And for what? For _greed._ Common greed. That's what _snaga_ do, Furtun," Durbûrz said. Furtun's hand cracked again as another bone broke, eliciting another scream. There was a shout of agony as one of the traitorous guards was stabbed in the thigh, before another messy stab went through his gut.

Durbûrz held Furtun's hand in his grasp as he got to his feet, before twisting the other orc's arm mercilessly. His booted foot kicked out twice, once right at his elbow, effectively breaking his arm, and another to the side of his knee, making his arm and one of his legs essentially useless. Furtun screamed and tried to curl in on himself, but Durbûrz was on him, straddling him as he began to pummel Furtun with his fists.

"You cost me my queen and tried to kill my son!" he snarled, accentuating some of the words with powerful blows. "I was _fond_ of her!"

Hands were on him, pulling him back off of the bloody, gasping advisor. Furtun rolled over and spit up a mouthful of black blood and pushed two teeth out of his mouth.

"My Lord, please! If you want him to stand judgment for what he did, then don't kill him now!" a voice growled in his ear. He turned to see Stargush holding him back, the orc's face bloodied from a brawl and a deep cut over his shoulder.

"That came awfully close to your jugular," Durbûrz ground out, looking at the cut. Stargush turned his head and looked at the wound, before shaking his head and turning his face back to his king, his eyes wet.

"I'd rather die in yer service than live as a traitor," Stargush said thickly. Durbûrz nodded sharply.

One of the traitors gave up after a few blows, throwing down his sword and begging for mercy. Durbûrz turned to him as another prepared to deliver a beheading stroke.

"Wait," Durbûrz growled. Bashi was young, the youngest guard there. He would hear what he would say. "Bind him at his wrists and elbows. I'll judge him momentarily," he growled.

When he finally looked at the damage Furtun caused, he nearly sat down and wept. Twenty orcs had come with him, picked by himself and Furtun, and only nine remained alive. Seven of those were his faithful, who had killed or incapacitated the traitors. Two of the traitors were alive, including young Bashi, and he looked over them. Furtun had not chosen well for his traitors, and the faithful had shown no mercy, even to those who had been counted brothers to them that very morning. The two survivors were being bound tightly, and still one of them fought against his captors. Durbûrz approached him, teeth showing. Bashi cowered before the wrath of his king.

"You face the hangman's noose. What have you to say for yourselves?" he asked harshly. Bashi broke, then, his face crumpling as he began to weep.

"Please, my king. Please…I had no idea he planned on killing the queen. I didn't know he was going to harm little Lord Visht," Bashi sobbed.

"You took part in an active plot to assassinate me," Durbûrz countered. Bashi was shaking his head.

"I don't know what he told the others…but he fed me the story of Tazir's claim for the throne. I…I believed him, my Lord…I am ashamed," Bashi groveled.

"You're a coward. And you'll die a coward," Durbûrz spat. Then he looked at the ones guarding them. "Yatta, go get rope from the wolves. Bring three coils," he said, looking Bashi in the eyes. The lad slumped forward, crying into the leaves.

Their wolves stood out of the circle, looking awestruck and lost. Durbûrz could take one look at their mounts and see that the wolves had not been in on the betrayal. But he saw the trouble brewing when one of the large mounts snapped at another, whose rider had been killed by the other's.

"Fleepaw. Go," Durbûrz snarled. Fleepaw, being the king's mount, was considered the Wolfmaster, the leader of the wolves. He had been chosen because he was Alpha among the wolves. A quick slap with his paw and a judicial use of his teeth on the scruff of the angry wolf's neck made the other submit immediately, yipping and whining loudly.

"Do you have everything under control, Master Orc?"

He turned to see a blond-haired elf dismounting his horse. The elf had an air of confidence and strength, and was surely a leader among his people. Perhaps even an elf-lord.

"Aye, Master Elf. A bit of…unexpected business to attend to. May I assume you are an authorized representative of the Hidden Valley?" Durbûrz asked, reaching up and wiping blood from the scratch marks over his face. He must look an absolute sight. The long gash from the arrow was starting to feel swollen and tight, leading him to believe the bastard had put something on the tip, and the side of his face throbbed in a staccato rhythm of pain.

"I am a trusted member of the House of Elrond," Glorfindel said solemnly. Durbûrz approached the elf slowly, and they met after a few paces. Durbûrz could practically smell the tension on the elf. His countenance was stiff, ready to attack at any given moment.

"I…My people have made a terrible first impression. This was supposed to be a peaceful meeting. And now…I must ask something of you, Master Elf," Durbûrz said. Glorfindel raised his eyebrows slightly. "I do not tolerate treason. Were we in my homelands I would not hesitate to string them up in the nearest tree and leave them to rot," the king said, his teeth gnashing together angrily, before he took a deep breath and covered his teeth. "As it is…I am _not_ in my homelands. I only request the use of a branch momentarily. We will burn them afterwards," Durbûrz said. Glorfindel looked over to where the remaining traitors were kneeling. He had no use for traitors, either, but elves did not kill each other anymore. An eternity of imprisonment would be the fate of an elven traitor. But he knew that the Men were quite fond of stringing each other up for the slightest offences…the dwarves as well. But they also liked beheadings, as well…Silly dwarves…

"Although it is not an elven practice to hang those who trespass against us, we are aware of the other races' methods of justice. On behalf of Lord Elrond I grant you use of one of the trees for the purpose of your deliverance of justice, and then the grounds for the burial of your men. Should you need help-,"

"We don't," Durbûrz bit out. Glorfindel's face was impassive. "I don't need your help hanging men I thought loyal to me, or burying the ones that were. But…it was a…nice offer….I think," Durbûrz said. His eyes passed over where Aragorn sat on his horse, his dark eyebrows twitching up slightly, before his eyes settled between Aragorn and Glorfindel's horses. He could see the elf-lord kneeling over the small figure of Visht between the creatures, and when they shifted he caught a glimpse of the orcess who had saved his son. He knew it was the Lord of the Valley from the tingling feeling his ring finger gave. "I have a King's business to attend to, my lad…" he murmured softly, before turning his head. Regret was etched deeply in the lines of his face.

Furtun was sitting up when he approached him, and Stargush was making sure he didn't try to run off, even with his broken leg.

"You get to go last, Furtun. I want you to see the faces of the orcs you led to ruin and death," Durbûrz said. Furtun spat at the king's feet, and received a cuff to the head as his reward from Stargush.

"My Lord," Yatta had returned with the rope.

"Yatta, watch Furtun here. Stargush, you're the best with knots. Tie the nooses," Durbûrz said. Stargush had a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

"Very well," he said. He received the ropes from Yatta and went about making the loops.

There was little ceremony involved in this. The elves had retreated back into the trees, and the ones on the ground did not watch. The nooses were tossed over the branches. The defiant traitor, Uta, was placed on the back of a wolf as the noose was put around his neck.

"Have you any last words?" Durbûrz asked quietly. Uta turned to him, his face calm.

"I always hated you, and I hope your son dies," Uta said. Durbûrz brought his hand up sharply and the wolf was led out from under him. The rope went taught and Uta kicked out wildly.

Cerena looked up at the sound of rope creaking and saw the orc kicking as he was hanged. In shock she watched, unable to turn away as the struggling grew weaker and weaker. Finally the body was still, swaying from the rope. Her eyes lifted slightly and saw the orc's face in death. She gasped raggedly, before a figure in grey cut off her line of sight. She looked up, eyes wide, to see Gandalf standing in front of her.

"There are some things not meant for a Lady's eyes," he said gently. She turned back to Visht's face, but could hear when they eventually lowered the body to prepare for the next one. She ran her hands over Visht's sweat-soaked brow, leaning down to kiss his cheek and nuzzle her nose against his temple. His breath was ragged and shallow, his throat swollen with some kind of inflammatory that had been on the arrow. Lord Elrond was applying a thin paste he'd mixed, murmuring the entire time.

"Such violence….just a child….deserve their fate…" she had little doubt that he knew what was going on in the trees behind him. His dark brows were furrowed as he worked, his fingers gentle and sure as he dabbed the thin medicine onto the swollen wound. She thought at one point she saw a glimmer of Vilya on his finger, but it could have been a trick of the light.

In the end Durbûrz could not bring himself to hang young Bashi. Instead he stripped him of his rank and had him sentenced to prison when they returned. It showed mercy on the orc king's part, and it was surprising to Glorfindel, who listened but did not watch. Aragorn was impressed with the show of mercy, though he was not impressed with the young orc's actions. He'd seen his fair share of hangings through the years. Many had he seen that deserved their justice, and there was doubt that anyone would have condemned the king for hanging traitors, but the unexpected reprieve showed a level of emotion that he had never seen in orcs. Again this peculiar breed surprised him.

Durbûrz finally came to Furtun, who sat in the leaves brooding. His mouth was bleeding, and blood stained his face down to his chin, but he paid it no attention as his pale green eyes glared at Durbûrz.

"May Eru have mercy on you, for I will not. String him up," was Durbûrz' only comment.

Furtun struggled very little as they situated him on the wolf's back. He stared ahead as the noose was put around his neck.

"What are your last words?" Durbûrz asked. Furtun turned and spat blood at him, but Durbûrz dodged this one. He threw his hand up and the wolf was led away. Durbûrz's face was taught with anger and disappointment as he watched the life leave Furtun's eyes. When at last they glazed over in death, he turned away. "What a waste. Cut him down and pile him with the others. Take their armor and weapons. Take their boots and stockings, they'll be washed and redistributed among the less fortunate. Then burn the bodies. Make sure Gorn and Hirvel are buried properly," the king said, before turning back towards where his son lay.

As he approached Aragorn dismounted his horse, leading it out of the way of the orc king. The creature, proud and tall when they had come into the clearing, was now sagging with wariness and grief. Heavy was this king's burden, and Aragorn did not envy him the load.

"How is my son?" Durbûrz asked softly, his orange eyes flicking up to meet Aragorn's grey ones.

"Lord Elrond attends him. He could be in no better hands," Aragorn replied. Durbûrz nodded silently.

"Lord Elrond is the master of the valley?" he asked, and Aragorn made a noise of assent. "Then I am honored he tends to my son. But who is the girl? Visht rode with her, did he not? This is twice she has saved his life," the king said, looking at Cerena. She looked up, then, and he studied her face. She had a beautiful face, with thick brows and heavy lashes that gave her a sultry look. But the light in her large, yellow eyes was extremely innocent. Her lips were beautifully shaped and plump. Her hair was a riot of curls, untamed and wild, and he really wanted to touch them.

She was brown of skin, a pleasant baked color that did in fact make her look like one of the Isengardians, but he did not see their wildness in her eyes or bearing. She looked rather like Juziya, whose mother had been a Southerner from a tribe that they did business with.

They tried to add new blood to their dwindling numbers through both humans and Snaga. Faithful old Stargush was half Snaga, his mother hand-picked from the Dol Guldur crowd. She had been a devilish little spitfire and had made Stargush's father a very happy orc. Both of them had been killed in a rock fall when Stargush was very young, and the half-blood had been adopted by one of Durburz's father's captains. When Durbûrz had taken the crown he had asked for Stargush to be one of his personal guard. He wondered what this lovely young orcess' story was.

"Her name is Cerena," Aragorn said, watching the King's eyes study Cerena's face. Then the orange eyes fell to the little figure under her hands.

"Oh, my son," Durbûrz said thickly, taking several steps forward and falling heavily to his knees beside his son. Elrond looked up at the heavy sound, his deep, ageless eyes finding the King's citrine eyes as they looked at each other. There was silence as they looked at each other, before the orc's hand reached out, laying his palm against the side of Visht's face.

Visht opened his eyes, his breaths still shallow and ragged, and looked up into his father's face.

"Ah-zi…" he breathed. Durbûrz shushed him gently, leaning down and pressing his forehead to Visht's.

"I am here. I am here," he said, taking his son's small hand in his own.

Elrond reached back to the supplies that had been gathered from Aragorn's horse. The boy was lucky that Aragorn had not removed his healer's satchel from the saddle, because otherwise there would have been nothing for them to work with. Now, that's not to say they could not have improvised, but that kind of field healing often left ugly scars and was prone to infection. He had applied an anti-inflammatory to the wound and would bandage it now.

"Hold him up while I wrap the bandages," Elrond said. Durbûrz put a large hand behind his son's head and lifted his torso gently. Cerena let her hands fall away from Visht and watched as the orc king took over. Her eyes were wet as she watched Elrond loop the white bandages around Visht's shoulder. When he had tied the ends, Durbûrz lowered the boy back down against the elven cloak that had been tucked behind him. He reached up and unclasped his own crimson cloak, pulling it around and laying it over Visht like a blanket.

"Will he be all right?" Durbûrz asked, looking up at Elrond. The elf looked down at the swollen face of the boy, and then to the boy's father, whose own face was swelling with the same inflammatory that was putting Visht in danger.

"There was something on the arrow that made him swell badly. It's putting pressure on his throat, but I've applied an anti-inflammatory that should take down the swelling within a few hours. The wound itself did not strike anything vital, but it did crack his collar bone a bit. He needs rest, but someone needs to watch him to make sure his airway stays open," Elrond said.

"I can watch him…" Cerena trailed off when both Elrond and Durbûrz looked at her. Her brown cheeks flushed darkly. "…My lords…" she finished weakly.

"I still have some of the paste left, Master Orc. And it appears one of the arrows grazed your face," Elrond said. "Would you permit me to heal you?"

There was rustling in the trees as the elves shifted shifted in shock. It was one thing to tend a child, orc as it was, or even a woman, as Cerena had been tended. This creature was a grown orc warrior, a king of his people, and Lord Elrond offered services to it? How scandalous!

"Well…It's either you or Yatta, and between you and me, you're not half as ugly as he is and smell three times better," Durbûrz said lowly, as if portraying a secret. Elrond merely smiled serenely and cleaned his hands before reaching for a clean bit of cloth. The deep arrow wound required a few stitches, but the king sat still as Elrond worked, and the elf lord was impressed with the stillness of his patient. Even the most stalwart elves usually squirmed a bit when field stitches were required. A judicial mount of the anti-inflammatory paste was applied to the arrow wound, before the claw marks on the other side were cleaned and a fresh-smelling paste dabbed against them to prevent infection.

"Much better," the orc said. He looked over to see Yatta dealing with Stargush's wounds, and the half-blood was squirming like a child on a hot seat. Yatta was good at field healing, but that didn't mean he was gentle or had a good manner about him. "Poor bastard…"

"I believe there is much I would ask you, if you will but suffer the curiosity of an elf for a while," Elrond said. Durbûrz turned towards Elrond. As he turned, his right hand brushed the elf lord's, and there was a physical jolt between them, like a bolt of static electricity. Both jumped back in surprise, looking at each other with wide eyes.

"That was….unexpected…" Durbûrz murmured.

"I am now quite convinced we need to talk," Elrond said, curling the hand that bore Vilya into a fist to try and relieve the sharp tingling.

"Master elf…when you first took up a sword, were you an expert? When you first began the art of healing, could you look at a wound with certainty and know the correct treatment?" Durbûrz asked. Elrond, unsure of where this was going, uncurled his fingers.

"Of course not. It took much time to learn those skills," he said. Durbûrz nodded.

"Aye, it takes time to learn a skill. Even a Vala can't be perfect at everything immediately," he continued. He had Elrond's attention, and as the king's men piled up their brethren for burning and dug the holes for the two that had been killed, Durbûrz prepared to tell Lord Elrond the history of the High Orcs.

"When Melkor first took the elves and began to pervert their forms, the creations he produced were…sub-par. They were….adequate, but not quite what he was looking for. He practiced the skill greatly. There is a chasm between the snaga and the High Orcs, because he left his original creations alone as he strived for perfection, but there was no bridge between us. He did not keep anything else, and while he worked the snaga grew. The snaga orcs are what you think of when you hear the word 'orc.' They are the slavering, animalistic orcs. They have their uses and they have their skills, but on the whole they are easily swayed and faithful to no one but themselves. Melkor perfected his skill in us.

We were what he referred to as Black Elves. Perfect Orcs, High Orcs. We are smarter, better formed, better organized, and our loyalties are not so easily swayed, though today was a poor example of that," the king said.

"Black Elves…" Elrond murmured, looking around at the orcs as they worked. "Why has no one ever heard of you?"

"When Melkor fell, we hid ourselves away. We were loyal only to him. Originally, our people hid to await his return. But now, most of the High Orcs do not remember him as anything other than Creator. We have developed our own societies, and our loyalties are to our Lords and Kings."

"You do not have loyalty to the Dark Lord of Mordor?" Elrond asked. Durbûrz growled deeply, showing his teeth.

"Sauron is a fool and a usurper of power. His greatest contribution to the world were the rings. He inspired the forging of the Three Elven Rings, of which I believe we know the location of two," Durbûrz said with a wink. He saw the elf-lord's countenance stiffen, though no other sign was given. He merely smiled and continued. "Sauron never touched the Three himself. He did, however, touch the Seven he gave to the Dwarves, and the Nine he used to ensnare the Nazgûl," he continued. "Then he decided to be a giant fucker and create the One. It amplified his own power and allowed him dominion over the spirits of the Nine Kings and the weaker of the Seven Dwarves, at least until the rings were returned to him.

Now, you'll be interested to know that the High Orcs have their own prophesy of Rings. Shall I tell it to you? You'll be the first to hear it outside of our lands," Durbûrz said. Elrond swallowed, but then nodded his head slightly.

_Nine were made for mortal men_  
_So death would claim them not_  
_Seven for the Dwarfs were made_  
_Within their halls of rock_

_Within the fist of Darkness held_  
_Were all these lesser rings_  
_But three there were he never touched_  
_Were held by Elven Kings_

_The elements were tamed and forged_  
_In fire, water and air_  
_And in the fists of Blacker Elves_  
_Each Element was paired_

_Cool the flame that burns within_  
_Let air flow not through stone_  
_Lightning catches water_  
_So bear them not alone_

_Power lies in allies_  
_And separate though they be_  
_Bring them altogether_  
_Ere they sail across the sea_

Elrond was watching the King's face as he recited the poem. The _implications_ of this were mind-boggling.

"There are three Orc rings of power?" Elrond whispered. Durbûrz grinned widely, showing his teeth and crinkling the skin at the corners of his eyes.

"Aye. Each element contained in the Elven Rings was given an opposite in the Orcish Rings. Narya, Ring of Fire, is opposite to Akulnazg, Ring of Ice. Nenya, Ring of Water, is opposite to Zgurnazg, Ring of Thunder. And Vilya, Ring of Air," Durbûrz said, looking directly into Elrond's eyes. "Is opposite to Gundnazg, Ring of Earth. Each element is countered."

Orcish rings of power….black elves….Elrond's head was spinning. He looked over to Gandalf, who was watching them both intently.

"And how do you know the lore of these rings?" Elrond finally asked. Durbûrz held up his right hand and turned the back of it to face Elrond. A band of black metal winked into existence, glittering like dark silver. Set into the dark metal was a gem of green.

"I bear Gundnazg, Ring of Earth," Durbûrz said quietly. "And you bear Vilya. And your wizard over there bears Narya. You can feel the other Elven Rings just as I can feel the Orcish Rings. But I, who knew the existence of all Six Elemental Rings, could feel my opposite, and can feel the energy of the other Ring," he said. Elrond looked rather startled for several long minutes, before nothingness passed over his face. He turned to the orc king.

"You have given me much to think about."

* * *

Son of a bitch! I just couldn't just writing. I honestly could have put this into two chapters, but it just wouldn't come up with a good place to stop. So I kept going. All right…I got out a bit of the Origins of the High Orcs and the Elemental Rings. I'm really self-conscious about this. I dealt with the elves in a very interesting way in my other story, and I want to do something like that here, but I don't want it to be the same. Tell me what you think, guys. I really want to hear your opinions so I can do this story justice.

Visht would certainly feel better if you all left him a get well greeting and a small sentence or two of how you felt about the chapt. (I know, I know…I'm a worthless review whore….)

At the least, if you haven't already, then favorite or follow the story so others know if it is/isn't a total pile of Smaug Poo.


	9. Where the Dream Takes You

I swear I haven't abandoned Dragon's Destiny. I'm in the middle of the chapter for that one and it's a particular bitch. If I'm not careful the entire house of cards I've built out of that plot could crumble around me, and I don't want that to happen. So while I was thinking out a specific part, I went ahead and tapped out chapter 9 of Dream.

Many answers and much more questions arise.

* * *

Chapter 9 - Where the Dream Takes You

Cerena gently stroked Visht's face. The swelling in his neck and face was starting to go down now, and his features were less distorted. When the pain had been deadened and his breathing had relaxed, he had fallen into an uneasy sleep. He would mewl pitifully every so often, and Cerena hummed softly to him. Sometimes she could feel the king's eyes on her, watching as she interacted with Visht. Elrond was talking with the orc-king still, asking questions about the various history of the High Orcs.

"Who made the orc rings?" she heard Elrond ask softly.

"He was a grand master of the forge named Bûrzûbardh, named for the black silver he was famous for. He was known to catch the essence of life in his creations, though exactly how nobody knew…" the king's voice trailed off as Gandalf came up to where she was sitting with Visht. He eased himself into a sitting position beside her, his joints popping and protesting, and then finally sighed when he could draw his legs underneath him and rest his staff across his knees.

"How are you?" he asked her. She looked up into his kind, bearded face, but then looked away, back down at Visht's face.

"I'm okay. I wish I would have moved faster. Visht didn't deserve to be hurt like that. I would gladly have taken another arrow to keep him from being hurt," she said. Gandalf reached out and put a hand over one of hers, closing his wrinkled fingers over the top of her hand in a grandfatherly way.

"You saved his life again. And I have no doubt that you would willingly put your life on the line for the boy. You are a great person, Cerena. Your heart is amazingly open. You took an old man you did not know into your home when you felt you had slighted him. You have accepted your situation with surprising grace and poise. You asked no questions when Visht's mother asked you to save him, you merely acted. Whatever Eru's Will for your life is, I have no doubts that they will reward you handsomely for it, whether it be in this life or the next," he told her. She smiled shyly at the old wizard. "Perhaps when all is said and done, there will not be a need for so many of the elves to sail. Perhaps all children of Eru can live in peace…"

Gandalf's voice trailed off in her hearing. As soon as he had mentioned sailing, everything seemed to tunnel out sharply in Cerena's sight. She was looking at Gandalf one moment, and the next she was no longer in the leafy clearing.

She looked around at her surroundings, her eyes wide with awe. She was in a beautiful garden, surrounded by lush and lively plants. A fountain sat in the center, water cascading over stone flowers and rolling artfully over curves in the stones. The water tinkled sweetly as it played.

"It is good to finally see you,"

She jumped at the sound of a voice and whirled around, seeing a man standing by the fountain. He was tall and slender, and every movement he made simply oozed elegance. His hair was shiny and black like a raven's wing, and was braided away from his face. A circlet sat on his brow, a simple stone pressed into the center and shining like a star. His eyes were the color of a cloudless sky, twinkling and mischievous as they looked her over. His mouth was turned into a lazy, perpetual smile that made him seem warm and inviting.

His robes were voluminous, draping in swaths of green and blue that was like seeing the sky through a forest canopy. After staring dumbly for what felt like hours, Cerena finally managed to draw in breath to speak.

"Where am I?" she croaked nervously. The man approached her and she took a few steps back. He paused his steps, looking honestly aggrieved at her fright, before holding out a hand.

"You have travelled the Olórë Mallë. Do you know what that means?" he asked her gently. The phrase sounded familiar to her, but she could not remember from where. "In the Common Tongue it is known as the Path of Dreams," he clarified. Cerena's dark brows knitted as she thought, before her eyes went wide as she looked at him in shock.

"If I…then this is….and you!" she stuttered. He laughed lightly, and yet held his hand aloft for her. "What do you want with me?" she whimpered. There was much understanding and gentleness on his face.

"We have asked much of you already. And yet you have not failed us. I ask you now to trust me," he said. Cerena swallowed hard, debating on what she should do. For several moments she stared at his outstretched hand. She nibbled at her lip and poked out her fangs before taking a deep breath and reaching forward. She placed her brown, clawed hand into his pale, warm palm. He smiled and turned slightly, leading her by the hand. At first it was awkward and uncomfortable for her to walk like this with him, but she found if she concentrated on the scenery it wasn't so bad.

He led her down a path of the lovely garden, surrounded by trees and flowers and filled with the rustling of them and the sounds of little animals that lived there.

"I bet there's a lot of squirrels here," she piped up, and then could have slapped herself. Of all the _asinine-,_

"Yes. There are. Arômêz keeps their numbers under control, though," he returned in the same kind, gentle way. "He likes to see how far away he can hit them with his bow."

"Fun," Cerena said lamely. The man made a humming noise.

"For him, maybe. Not so much fun for the squirrels," he retorted, turning to her and giving her a wink. Cerena flushed darkly and laughed nervously. She could suddenly hear talking ahead.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her nervousness returning.

"You must trust me," he said softly. They finally emerged in a clearing, and Cerena saw many people sitting on stone benches and lounging on blankets strewn across the ground. Some of them were dressed in fine robes, though not as fine as the one who led her, and some of them were dressed plainer. There was an inner beauty about these people that struck her as familiar. She finally caught what it was when one of the nearby women turned her head and revealed the tip of a delicately pointed ear.

"Elves!" Cerena whispered.

Several of the elves stopped talking at the sound and turned. Eventually the entire clearing had ceased its noise, and they were all looking at Cerena.

"Is that her?" an elf asked. He stepped forward, looking at her curiously. His hair was so light that it appeared white, and was braided back in a complicated style. Many clasps of gold and silver twinkled in his hair, and his eyes were bright and blue-grey, like steel. The most notable thing about him was a beautiful blue cloak. The rich fabric was fastened with a large blue broach that showed twelve stars against a blue background. She stared at the broach and then at the elf. "Is this what we're waiting for?" he added.

"Patience, Artanáro. All will be revealed in time," the man said. Cerena's mind went into data retrieval mode. She _knew _this elf. If she could but remember his other names! Let's see…Artanáro…blue cloak….twelve stars…Sweet Corn-on-the-cob!

"Gil-Galad," she muttered, only half to herself. The white-haired elf looked startled.

"Do you know me? I cannot say I have ever truly met an orc before. I've killed a few, but never talked to them."

"And that's a shining example of what _not_ to say, _Ereinion_," another elf said with much sarcasm. Gil-Galad pursed his lips and turned to the elf that had spoken.

"You should put a cork in that wine-hole you call a mouth, Oropher," the elf snipped primly. Cerena's mouth dropped open.

"You have no dominion over me, Noldo," the elf replied, stepping forward. Oropher was tall and sturdy, his hair more golden then the white-locked Gil-Galad.

"If your mouth keeps working, Sindar, I'll cork it for you," Gil-Galad replied.

"Oh god, they're like children…" Cerena said. Her guide looked down at her, noting the shocked look on her face. He laughed lightly.

"Ones that were Reborn sometimes have a hard time controlling their emotions," he explained patiently. There were a few titters from some of the other elves. Oropher and Gil-Galad glared at each other from across the clearing.

"My Lord…I do not mean to be rude or anything…but…why am I here?" Cerena asked, looking up into the face of the being next to her.

"As you may have guessed, I am Irmo. I am the Lord of Dreams and Visions. You have walked the Path of Dreams to enter Lórien. The elves that stand before you have all expressed a common interest. Some of them were killed in Arda, their spirits sent to Námo, and then reborn again here in Aman. Some have traveled the Straight Road from their families, by necessity or otherwise. _You_ are a Chosen one. You were chosen by Ilúvatar for a very special mission.

You know the lore of Melkor and the torment of the elves he captured. You know their twisted visages, and could still give them pity, no matter their transgressions. The exact details of your mission are not mine to divulge. They will be revealed to you in due time. But I can tell you that you are to right a wrong that has long been overlooked. You experienced a future full of hate and anger. You know what is at stake if you fail. But fear not!" he said, noticing the look of despair on her face. "All of Valinor is cheering for you."

"Not all, my Lord."

The elf, though female, had a rich alto voice that reminded Cerena of some kind of rich dessert. She emerged from the crowd wearing a simple gown of pale green that set off the white-silver color of her hair. It was more radiant than Gil-Galad's, but there was something else about this elleth that Cerena couldn't quite put her hand on. She was surprised when she looked into the elf-lady's face.

Elves did not scar easily, and yet this elleth bore two long scars that crossed her face, one crossing over her right eye. Her eyes were deep and blue, an ocean of age and grace. Even with the two curious scars she was incredibly beautiful. There was a deep sadness in her eyes as she looked at Cerena, and such sorrow in an elf was not befitting. Cerena could think of several elves through the history that would have reason to be said, but none that had been described as this one.

"Celebrían," Cerena said with confidence. The elf-Lady looked surprised for but a moment before a smile curled up her lips.

"She is very well versed in our lore," she intoned softly.

"What do you mean 'not all' of Valinor is cheering?" Cerena asked. Celebrían's small smile faded.

"There are those who do not believe the orcs worthy of the attention the Valar are giving them. They believe they should be wiped from the existence of the world, and would not mourn their deaths," she said. Cerena nibbled at her full bottom lip a bit, tilting her head curiously at Celebrían.

"And what about you? What do you think?" she asked. Cerena was aware of all eyes on them.

"I have had a long time to come to terms with what happened to me, and the result of it all. The fire of my hate has faded and left naught but cold ashes of bitterness and regret," Celebrían said. A few of the elves were looking at her sadly.

"The results?" Cerena asked curiously. Celebrían's eyelids drooped slightly and her silver brows furrowed.

"Elrond and I…we wanted another child. I wanted to visit my Adar and Naneth before I became pregnant and could not travel. On the way back-," her voice broke here, and she stopped talking. She inhaled and exhaled several times, before her brows drew together more tightly and her expression changed a little. "On the way back I started my cycle, so that my body would be ready. When we were attacked…when I was tormented and tortured almost to my death….they forced themselves on me…" her fists were clenched at her sides. Cerena gasped softly. She knew amongst many Lord of the Rings fanfiction writers that it was widely assumed that this is what had happened to Celebrían. But to hear it, and see the agony of the memory on her face….

"But don't elves die from that?" Cerena asked in a small voice. Celebrían drew herself up, wiping all of the emotion from her face.

"I decided that I would not. I fought death. I was stronger than their filthy deed," she said coldly. "But the poison in the wounds that they inflicted was strong, and it made me weak. Elrond healed the wounds, but there was something that he could not heal. The preparations I had made for my husband had come to fruition with orc seed. And that was something I could not handle. I believe Elrond suspected. I was fading fast, and in his infinite kindness and mercy he put me on a ship and sent me here," Celebrían said.

"What happened…to the child?" Cerena asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. She believed if she had not been with Visht, then an elf would have long found a way to 'accidentally' drown him in one of the ponds of Rivendell.

"I was born. And I grew."

The crowd of elves parted to reveal a feminine figure. Cerena's mouth opened at the sight of her. She was tall and slender like the elves, but that was where the similarities ended. Her hair was thick and shiny, and fell in blue-black waves over her back and shoulders. Her skin was greyish-green, soft and flawless. The most startling feature about her was her eyes. Though she had been given the skin color of her father's people, she had her mother's eyes. They were like chips of sapphire in her face, surrounded by thick, sultry lashes and crowned with thick, arched brows. Her lips were full and soft, a darker color against her skin. Like Cerena her large, sharply pointed ears poked slightly out of her hair. Despite her orcish appearance, she could have passed as a twin to her mother.

"They call me the _yrchedhel, _the orc-elf, but my name is Edledhia," the woman said. Cerena could see the tips of sharp white teeth in her mouth as she spoke. Cerena looked between the faces of Gil-Galad, Oropher, Celebrían and Edledhia.

"I'm so confused," she finally said. She felt hands on her shoulders, and looked up to see the face of Irmo.

"Revolution is upon us. The only thing you need to remember right now is that you are not alone. Your kind heart is your guide right now. I will come to you again in time, along with others. Your time here is up, and you must return," Irmo said. Celebrían stepped forward quickly, taking hold of Cerena's hand.

"Before you go. I have a favor to ask of you. I want you to give a message to Elrond for me," she said. She leaned forward and whispered something in Cerena's ear. Cerena's eyes widened and she gaped at Celebrían when the elf finally pulled back.

"Is that even possible?" she asked.

"It is in our case. Tell him that his kindness saved me and that I am happy here. Tell him to stay and watch over our children," she said. Cerena nodded.

"Come now, Cerena," Irmo said, pulling her away from the group of elves. Many of them began waving to her, including Edledhia. She waved back at them. "Now, all you have to do is wake up."

"What?" Cerena asked. He looked at her.

"Wake up," he repeated. Cerena looked at him as though she weren't quite comprehending.

"What?" she asked again.

"_Wake up._"

* * *

"_Wake up,_" Elrond intoned gently, tapping his palm against her cheek. She had been out for several minutes now, and he was worried for her. One moment she had been speaking with Gandalf, and the next she had gone wide-eyed and keeled over. She was staring ahead as though in a trance, but Elrond knew what was going on. She was having a vision. It had been a long time since a vision had taken him as forcefully as this one had taken her, but he had been dealing with them for far longer than Cerena.

Cerena's hand moved, clenching into a fist and moving up across her chest. Her brows furrowed and she whimpered lightly, before she gasped softly and her eyes snapped shut for several moments. Then they snapped open and she looked around wildly, before her gaze settled on Elrond.

"I had a vision," she said. He nodded at her.

"Aye, a strong one at that," he said gently. He tugged her gently into a sitting position, but she swayed dangerously. She shuddered.

"Gonna be sick," she said thickly. Elrond grabbed a handful of her hair to keep it back and then tilted her head down to the side just as she retched into the leaves. She gasped for breath when she felt as though she'd emptied her stomach, but continued to gag for several more minutes. She saw the tips of black boots enter her vision, and a water skin was held out. Elrond took it from the one who offered it, and carefully uncorked the top.

"Rinse your mouth out and we'll move you," he said. He tilted some of the water into her mouth, and she rinsed out the taste of sickness. Then the water skin was handed away and Elrond stood with her, bringing her to her feet. A judicious kick of leaves covered the puddle of sick.

Her legs felt like cooked noodles and she clung to the Lord of Rivendell for several long moments before she could hold herself up on her own feet.

"Are visions normally that violent?" came the voice of the orc king. It was he who had offered his own water skin to the girl. He'd been obviously concerned when she went over like a tree, but the wizard had assured them that she was having a vision.

"What did you see?" Gandalf asked. Cerena looked up.

"I travelled the Olórë Mallë," she said. She heard muttering up in the branches, where most of the elves had retreated. Elrond looked surprised, but Gandalf did not. Aragorn and Glorfindel both looked gobsmacked. "I met Irmo, and he spoke with me a bit. There was a group of elves there. Some had died and been reborn. Others had sailed for various reasons. Lord Elrond! I saw King Gil-Galad!" she said excitedly. Elrond gasped lightly.

"He has been reborn?" he asked.

"Yes, sir! And I saw King Oropher as well!" she added. Glorfindel snorted.

"Gil-Galad and Oropher together? She wasn't on the Path of Dreams. She was in hell," he muttered. Someone above him snickered.

Cerena moved towards Elrond shakily, reaching out for him. He allowed her to take one of his hands.

"I saw…I saw the Lady Celebrían," she whispered. He inhaled sharply, his eyes widening. "She wanted me to tell you something…and give you something, apparently," she said. She pressed something into Elrond's palm, and tugged him lightly so he would bend down closer to her. He leaned forward slightly and she leaned up to whisper. "She told me to tell you that she releases you from your Vows. Your souls never touched and she felt terrible that she didn't think to do it before she left. She wants you to know your kindness saved her life, and you do not have to feel beholden to follow her. She said to follow your heart, wherever it may lead. She wants you to stay and watch the children," Cerena said. She could feel the Elf-Lord trembling bodily, and when she pulled back, she could see his face was stained with tears.

Cerena moved her hand so he could see what was placed in his palm. A small pendant sat in his hand. It was a five-pointed star, set with a pearl in the center and a different gemstone at each tip. He had given it to Celebrían when Arwen was born, a small trinket to show her he cared. When she had been abducted at the Redhorn pass the chain had been broken, but she'd been able to save the pendant. She'd told him later that it was the presence of that pendant that had kept her from fading in her fear and agony.

He could not stop the tears that flowed, but he would wait until he was in private to break.

"Thank you, Cerena. What you have given me is beyond anything I could repay," he said. She flushed darkly.

"You're welcome," she said softly.

"What a day," Durbûrz sighed. This seemed to break the moment, and allowed Elrond to wipe the tears from his face.

"A day, indeed," the Elf replied. "Master orc, when will you return to your kingdom?"

"I will probably leave in a couple days, if we have your permission to make use of another clearing. It was a long trip, and the men are tired. They've earned their rest, and Visht is in no condition to travel just yet, I'm sure you agree," he said. Elrond nodded silently. "I cannot help but wonder…is the girl bound to you in debt?" he asked suddenly. Elrond seemed surprised by the question.

"Not at all. She came as a guest of Gandalf, injured from saving the boy. Guests they stayed," Elrond replied.

"Visht seemed very close to her," Durbûrz agreed. Cerena watched them, curious as to where this was going.

"He would not leave her side. They have grown very close these past weeks," Elrond said with a smile. Durbûrz grinned widely at Cerena, showing his sharp teeth. She smiled shyly and looked away, shuffling her shoes in the leaves.

"If she is amenable, she is welcome to join us when we return to the valley," Durbûrz said. Cerena looked up quickly, her face showing surprise. "Visht likes you. You are good with him. Without his mother I fear he will get very lonely. If you were there with him it would be so much easier on him," he added. Cerena, flattered but confused, looked at Gandalf's face, and then at Elrond's.

"Do I… have to answer now?" she asked the king. He shook his head.

"No. We will leave in two days' time. You have time to seek the counsel of the wizard and the elf," he said knowingly. Cerena smiled.

"Thank you, sir. I am honored by the offer. I will seriously consider this," she said.

"Come, then. We will let them find rest. There is another clearing about a half mile south of here. It is not a difficult walk. I recommend carrying the boy," Elrond said, pointing in the direction of a fresh clearing. Durbûrz nodded his thanks.

"Aye, Lord Elf. We will travel there and retire for the day. I will set up the tent so that Visht can rest peacefully," he said. Elrond smiled politely.

"We will return tomorrow, perhaps, to see if you have everything you need," Elrond said, bowing slightly to the Orc King. He received a bow in return, and the groups made preparation to return to Rivendell. Cerena was tired and weak from her vision, and she wanted to talk to Elrond some more. She also wanted to talk to Arwen, whose advice she wanted. She found Blanket munching at some greenery at the base of a tree, and marveled at the horse. The stray arrow that had been sent from the advisor's bow was lodged in Blanket's mane, resting over his ear and giving him the appearance of having been struck in the head with an arrow. As she plucked the long orc arrow from his mane she petted him gently.

"You are a sweetie, Blanket, but you really are dumb as a box of rocks."

* * *

"What do you think of the girl, my lord?" Stargush asked as he and Tharm set up the tent for the King and his son to sleep in. The fresh clearing did not smell of burnt flesh and the remnants of a hanging, but quickly the smell of roasted meat filled the area as they cooked the flesh of a deer they had shot while traveling. Half of the wolves were off hunting for themselves and the others were spread around the edge of the camp, waiting their turn to eat.

"She has a kind heart and a pretty face. She was not raised amongst orcs," the king said, holding Visht carefully in his arms as they set up his pallet. Visht's sleeping pallet had been packed with the King's when they left, in the hopes that the boy would be using it on the way back.

"What makes you say that?" Tharm asked, testing the tent to make sure it would hold.

"She was more comfortable around the elves than she was around us, though it was obvious that most of them did not like her. The Elf Lord seemed kind enough to her, and so did the wizard. But that one blond-haired one, the one that looked like a lion about to pounce, I saw him look at her like she was garbage a couple times. I couldn't get much of a reading from the Dúnedain. He seemed rather neutral to the whole affair," Durbûrz said, reaching up and carefully brushing a bit of hair from Visht's face. The lad stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at his father and gave a weak smile.

"Apzi…" he said weakly. His father grinned at him and lowered his head to press their foreheads together. "You come for Visht."

"Of course I came, _gaz ash_! You are my son," he said, as though it explained everything. Visht hummed in content.

"Love you, Apzi," he murmured, his eyes shutting again. Durbûrz touched his nose to his son's and then pulled his face away.

"I love you too, _baur_," he replied. When the tent was ready he took his son inside, carefully situating him on his padded pallet and covering him up warmly, but so that he would not burn up. A small candle burned in a glass and steel globe, setting off enough light to keep it from being dark inside the tent. They had brought a small supply so that Visht would not be afraid during the night like he was apt to be at times. The thick, dark canvass blocked out a lot of light and could get dark on the inside, so during these daylight hours they burned one for him.

He exited the tent and saw Yatta relieving himself against a tree.

"Fucking really? If the girl decides to go with us there won't be any of that shit going on. You can damn well piss away from the camp," Durbûrz stated sharply.

"Why do we have to make special allowances for her?" Yatta asked gruffly, shaking himself off and tucking himself away.

"Without her there wouldn't be a Prince to take home," Durbûrz growled. "She deserves respect for her part in that, at least."

There was a murmur of assent among the men, and Durbûrz rolled his eyes.

"Fucking animals, I swear to Morgoth."

* * *

She was too tired to remember the ride back to Rivendell, and she was put to bed as soon as they returned. She did not protest, nor did she wake until dawn came the next day. When she did, it was to Arwen gently shaking her. Cerena automatically reached over to lean down and shake Visht awake, but when her hand met air she came completely into consciousness. Then she remembered, and must have looked extremely sad, because Arwen sat on the edge of her bed and drew her into a sitting position so tha she could be pulled into a hug.

"Do not despair. Father says that the Orc King offered you a chance to go with them," Arwen said. Cerena nodded.

"Yes…but I'm not sure I should go. I have so little in common with them," she said.

"But you have even less in common with the elves," Arwen pointed out, not unkindly.

"I guess so…" Cerena said. "But what if that's not what I'm supposed to do? What if I mess everything up?"

"And what if this is _exactly_ what you're supposed to do? How can you start a revolution if you do not know the people you are supposed to revolutionize?" Arwen said. "Father and Gandalf discussed it late into the night, and I was there for much of it, since we are friends and you treasure my council. Estel was there as well, and agrees that you should go."

"Well, I guess everyone's just planning out the ways to get rid of me, huh?" Cerena snapped, pulling from Arwen's embrace and turning away from her. Arwen gasped lightly.

"Do not think it so! We only want good things for you! Think carefully about this, Cerena. Gandalf was sent to be your guide into Rivendell so that you could come to know Adar. What if little Visht was sent to be your guide into the orc Kingdom, so that you would not feel like an outsider amongst your own people?" Arwen said. Cerena's stiff shoulders drooped and she turned around.

"I'm sorry I snapped…I'm just…frightened," Cerena said. Arwen reached out and took Cerena's hand.

"Do not be afraid. The Valar are with you. They care for your well-being," Arwen said kindly.

"What if I get there…and I hate it and they hate me?" Cerena whispered. Arwen laughed at the childish question.

"I'm sure you are not going to be treated like a prisoner. It sounds as if you've found favor with the king for the kind treatment of his son. He would not allow anyone to be cruel to you. And besides that! You are not a prisoner there. If you wish, I am sure you could return here at any time! Do not allow fear to overcome you, or you will be filled with nothing but regret," Arwen said. "Now come, let's get ready for the day. Father wishes to return and check on poor Visht's injury. Let us make you a lovely sight for the King to look upon," Arwen said, and winked at Cerena.

"You are _not_ going to try to hitch me with Visht's father!" Cerena whispered, mortified. Arwen merely smiled serenely, looking very much like her father.

"Did not the King say that Visht would be lonely without his mother? Mayhap you are meant to be a queen?" Arwen asked slyly.

"And maybe I'm supposed to suffocate the Lady of Rivendell with a pillow?" Cerena asked, tossing said artifact at Arwen's face. Arwen caught the pillow with a silvery laugh.

"I believe both father and Estel would be _most_ displeased at that!"

* * *

Don't you just hate it when your friends try to set you up with orc kings? It's just the _worst_! So like I said, I haven't abandoned Dragon's Destiny, I'm just stuck on a particularly nasty part and decided to take a break and type this one up. Hopefully DD is next on the update.

Bûrzûbardh - Dark Silver

Arômêz - Oromë the Hunter (Bema)

Olórë Mallë - Path of Dreams

Artanáro/ Ereinion - Alternate names of Gil-Galad (Don't know what we'd do if every character didn't have at least ten fucking names.)

Oropher - father of Thranduil, grandfather of Legolas

yrchedhel - orc-elf

Edledhia - exile

gaz ash - little one (Black Speech)

baur – son

So you've enjoyed the chapter, now if you haven't done so already you should favorite/follow. If you have done that, then you should review. If you've reviewed before, then you should know that I love them and want them badly, and would not complain if you reviewed again. So there. :D


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